What Happens In Vegas Gets You Shot In The Head
by PervyMonk
Summary: For a woman with no past, she does a good job rewriting history. Eventual F!Courier/Boone
1. It's All A Haze

What Happens in Vegas Gets a Courier Shot in the Head

Disclaimer: I don't own the story or characters featured in Fallout: New Vegas. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

><p>Chapter One: It's All A Haze<p>

_Friends and Romans, I'm your brother_

_I'm scratching to hang on_

_The pursuit of happiness is just_

_A common bagger's con._

_When a can of Pork 'N' Beans can_

_Change my attitude, you won't_

_Give it up, but I could have _

_Been you. _

_While the Masters and the Slaves_

_Scratch for pieces of the dream_

_For purple mountain majesties_

_Whatever the hell that means_

_They give up on each other _

_And that's the way they get ahead._

_But I can still see the stars_

_Through these red, white, and blue prison bars!_

_Master and Slave_- Cherry Poppin' Daddies

"Looking at this pistol, you must think you've gotten an 18-karat run of bad luck," the man in the checkered suit says. She frantically pulls at her bound wrists. Her numb arms prevent her from being able to achieve more than weak struggling. The blood running through her ears almost drowns out what the man says next.

"Sorry, kid," he says, and she can almost believe he is sympathetic. He raises his gun to point it at her. She is going to die, and nothing she can do will save her. She tries to think of her life. That's what is supposed to happen, isn't it? Her life flashing before her eyes, allowing her to relive those precious moments?

But all she can think of is her death, and her heart freezes.

"But the game was rigged from the start," the man says, and his voice holds no apology.

She can't bring herself to close her eyes.

* * *

><p>The first thing that comes back to her is pain, blind and searing like a nuclear explosion in the middle of the night.<p>

The second thing is that she is lying on something soft, with no clothes on, and smells air that is unfamiliar.

The third is that she can't place _why _the air is unfamiliar. And realization washes over her with a terrifying clarity.

She wouldn't be able to tell if the air was familiar or not, because she _can't remember a God damn thing. _She takes in a breath to calm herself. _There has to be something, _she thinks frantically. She is a woman. She knows that much from the swell of breasts underneath the blanket. Syllables forming a name enter her mind, but she isn't sure how they fit, or if they're even the right syllables.

"You're awake," a soft voice says, and she tenses. Her neck feels stiff as she turns it in the direction of the voice. "Hell of a shot you took. You've been out a few days now. " She pushes herself into sitting position. Oh God, but how the light makes her head throb.

"Easy there. Easy," the voice says, and she stiffens as she feels hands on her arms.

"Where am I?" she asks sharply. Her voice is slurred, and her mouth has difficulty forming the words.

"Goodsprings. I'm Doc Mitchell. What's your name? Can you tell me your name?" He asks, and his voice never loses that soft tone. She's startled.

"My-my name?"

"That's right," he answers. "Tell me your name. " She reaches for those unfamiliar syllables, turning them into unfamiliar words.

"Haze," she answers slowly. "Dolores Haze. Lola." He chuckles.

"Well, that's not what I'd have picked for you, but if that's your name, that's your name." He scrutinizes her for a moment. She fidgets underneath his gaze.

"Well," he says finally. "No sense in keeping you in bed any longer. Walk to the Vit-o-matic Vigor Tester, and we'll learn right quick if you've got all your faculties back." She swings her legs over the side of the bed, and tests them against the hardwood floor. She thinks they'll hold her up. She tentatively stands and stumbles toward the Vit-o-Matic Vigor Tester machine.

"Easy now. It ain't a race," the doctor chides. When she reaches it, she braces herself up against it.

"All right. Let's get started," Doc Mitchell says.

* * *

><p>After learning that she did indeed still have all of her faculties, she finds herself sitting on the good doctor's couch.<p>

"You did fine on the Vigor Tester, but that don't mean them bullets didn't leave you nuttier than a Bighorner dropping," the doctor says by way of explanation. So she begins to patiently answer questions she really doesn't know the answers to. _Violence just isn't in my nature? _Sure. _I'm not taken to relying on others for support. _Well, maybe. She finally loses patience, swearing and telling Doc Mitchell she doesn't know a damn thing about herself. He quietly looks at her for a moment before saying,

"I hate to say it, but that's pretty common after this sort of thing. Your memory will come back eventually." She doesn't answer him.

She is afraid of what she can't remember.

* * *

><p>He gives her back her meager belongings, and a strange Vault suit to put on. She has eighteen caps, a decaying 10mm pistol, 3 stimpacks, and a delivery order to her name. She stares long and hard at the yellowing piece of paper. '<em>Courier Six? A platinum chip?' <em>She strains her memory, but can't remember anything about the chip.

"Platinum?" she asks Doc Mitchell. He shrugs, and says,

"I thought it was a mite odd as well. Hell of a material to make a simple poker chip out of."

The feeling that 'simple poker chip' wasn't so simple gnaws at Lola's stomach. _Where is it? Is it what I was shot over?_

"Thank you for your help," she says awkwardly, looking down at the Pip-Boy on her right arm. He smiles.

"You're welcome. I'm sorry I can't offer you a place to stay, but the neighbors would begin to talk," he says. She nods.

"You've done more than enough," she says, and winces at how slowly the words come to her lips. Doc Mitchell tilts his head.

"If you'd like, I could teach you how to speak properly again. You might never sound the way you did before, but it'll be a start," he offers. She nods her assent. "It'd be a good idea to talk to Sunny Smiles for the rest. She can teach you how to shoot, and how to work with the land instead of against it."

"What about the men who did this to me? Does she know anything about that?" Lola asks, and Doc Mitchell feels a surge of pity well up in his chest.

"Well, you might want to talk to Victor. He's the one who pulled you out of your grave and brought you to me."

"Where can I find him?" Doc Mitchell smiles a strange sort of smile.

"He's usually taking a stroll right about now. You can't miss him. He's unforgettable."

* * *

><p>Lola hisses as the sun blares down upon her. She rubs her temples in an effort to sooth her pounding headache. Her stomach aches with hunger, and she looks around longingly for a place to eat. <em>The Prospector Saloon, <em>a large neon sign proudly proclaims in the distance. Good a place as any. Plus, where there are saloons, there is alcohol. And where there is alcohol, there are people. Lola can remember that much. She makes her way across the barren yards of Goodsprings. What little wind that blows kicks up dirt, and she blinks the offending particles out of her eyes.

She opens the door to the saloon, and the first thing to enter her line of vision is a cheerful looking woman with a dog sitting next to her. The dog raises itself on her haunches when Lola strolls through the door. The woman puts a calming hand on the animal's head.

"Cheyenne, stay. Don't worry," the woman says, smiling. "She won't bite unless I tell her to." Lola isn't reassured, but she instinctively crouches down and offers her hand out for the dog to sniff. Cheyenne cautiously sniffs her outstretched hand, and gives it a tentative lick.

"Looks like that bullet didn't scramble your brains completely," the woman says approvingly. "I'm Sunny Smiles," she says with an out-stretched hand. Lola stands, wiping the dog spit off of her hand before offering it.

"Dolores Haze. For today, anyway," she says, smiling wryly. "Doc Mitchell said you could teach me how to shoot?" Sunny nods.

"Yes. But I think we'd better get you something to eat first." Sunny turns and leads Lola to the bar. Lola takes a seat next to her gratefully, and waits for the proprietor to take her order.

"So, do you remember anything?" Sunny asks as the barkeep walks over to them. Lola delays answering until the woman, who she learns is named Trudy, finishes taking Sunny's order. Lola is content to let the other woman order for her, and simply observe. She takes note of how Trudy's hand lingers on Sunny's, and of the smile that blossoms over the younger woman's face.

"Not very much," she answers slowly. "I'm having trouble spoon-_speaking_-and I remember that people gather at places like this. I think I remember my basket-_name." _Lola hates the sympathetic look Sunny gives her.

"Do you remember anything about yourself?" she questions. Lola rubs her temples. Her head hasn't stopped aching, and she's trying to glean the pieces of her life though the haze of agony.

"I remember the flag of the old world," she says tentatively, and that image fills her with a dread she cannot fathom.


	2. Help, I'm Alive

Chapter Two: Help, I'm Alive

_A man should look for what is, and not what he thinks should be. –Albert Einstein._

After being treated to dinner by Sunny Smiles, the other woman encourages her to look around Goodsprings.

"You can come find me tomorrow, and I'll teach you how to shoot," she offers. "There's an old school building you can check out, with a safe that not even Easy Pete's dynamite can crack. There shouldn't be anything more dangerous than some giant mantises." Sunny hands her a few bobby pins, and a yellowing _Locksmith's Reader. _Lola takes the items with a wordless nod of thanks before exiting the saloon. The sun has begun to go down, and she is grateful for the reprieve from the blinding sunlight.

Goodsprings is simply a cluster of houses haphazardly thrown together. It is difficult to find her way around such a place, but she eventually stops in front of the schoolhouse Sunny mentioned. She steps on a giant mantis nymph before entering the decrepit building. Mantises swarm her, but she easily fends them off with only a few scratches as payment for the effort. She finds the safe, and begins to work at breaking into it. Her hands seem to know what they're doing, even if she does not, and the safe opens with a satisfying click. After placing the loot in her pack, she rummages around the rest of the schoolhouse for anything else to sell. When she is finished scavenging, she exits. In the distance she sees a hill, and can barely make out the weathered grave markers in the dimming light.

_"The game was rigged from the start," he says, and his voice holds no apology._

She shudders, her hand instinctively going to hold her head. She feels the fresh wounds on her temple and cheek, causing her to wince. She takes off walking toward the graveyard. The path grows lonely and desolate except for a few bloatflies and a lone barkscorpion that she puts out of their misery. She delicately cuts the poison gland out of the scorpion, once again surprised at what her muscles remembered while her mind did not. Sweat begins to trickle down her face as she reaches the top of the hill.

Her blood runs cold as she sees the open grave with a pile of fresh dirt sitting innocently next to it. She cautiously walks over to the hole, and hears a soft crunch beneath her feet. She looks down to see cigarette butts scattered all over the ground next to the grave. She crouches downs and picks up one of them. The filter has a distinctive white swirls wrapping around it. She didn't see any of the patrons in the Prospector smoking cigarettes of this type, so she pockets a few of the unbroken ones.

She turns her attention to the grave. She leans over, and peers over the edge of it. The dirt at the end farthest from her is dark where blood had dried. Where _her _blood had dried. Out of macabre curiosity, she lowers herself into the grave. She lies down, staring at the sky fading from orange to black. Gently running a hand over the dirt next to her, she considers her strange set of circumstances. She should be dead. Why isn't she?

"Howdy, partner! Are you all right down there?" a thickly accented voice asks. A moment later she sees a computer monitor with a picture of a cowboy obscures her vision of the sky.

"Yes," she answers unsurely. She sits up and braces her hands on the edge of the grave. A mechanical arm moves out to assist her. She takes it, and the robot pulls her out.

"Well, missy. I didn't think I'd have to pull you out of your grave a second time," the robot says with a mechanical chuckle.

"You're Vincent?" she asks slowly. He chuckles again.

"Victor. Nice to make your acquaintance!"

"Victor," she repeats. "What are you?"

"A Securitron, RobCo security model 20-60 B. If you ever see any of my brothers, tell them Victor says howdy!"

"I'll do that," she promises, though she isn't sure where she would see another Securitron. "Do you know anything about the men who shot me?"

"No, I can't say that I do. One of them was dressed real fancy-like. Fancy-pants, I call him," he said, and Lola swears he would have winked at her if he could. _That must be the man in the checkered suit, _she thinks.

"Why did you save me?" she asks.

"Well, I've always been one to help a person in need, and I reckon there was no reason to change that particular quirk," he answers. She eyes him doubtfully before answering.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it, missy! Tell me, do you have a place to stay for the night?" the robot asks.

"I-" she hadn't really thought about it. "I don't really name- _know_. Probably just camp out somewhere."

"Nonsense! I have a perfectly good bed that's just goin' to waste," he insists.

"Well, that's horribly nice of you, but-"

"Come on! I'll show you where it is!" he says, sounding almost excited. He pivots, speeding off, and Lola coughs at the dust he kicked up. Dazed, she stares after him. Is it natural to talk to robots? She can't remember, but then again, it isn't exactly natural to wake up after taking a shot or two to the head.

So, natural or unnatural, she follows the robot to his shack.

Her unease only increases when she sees the Old World flag hanging on the side of the shack.

* * *

><p>She slept fitfully on the dust-covered bed, spending most of the night staring at the cracks that line the ceiling. When she leaves, the Securitron is nowhere in sight. She feels oddly relieved. Lola makes her way to the Prospector Saloon, and sees Sunny leaning against the door. The woman waves a hand in recognition, and Lola finds herself waving back.<p>

"Hey," Sunny greets as Lola walks up the creaky wooden steps. She jerks her thumb back behind her. "Are you ready to learn how to shoot?"

"Ready as ever," Lola answers, following the woman as she walks to the area behind the saloon. She eyes the cracked Sunset Sarsaparilla bottles lined up with amusement. Sunny hands her a worn varmint rifle.

"Here. Try to shoot the bottles," Sunny says. Lola nods, taking the rifle. She braces it against her shoulder rigidly. She pulls in a breath and shoots, the bullet ricocheting off of the wood the bottle stands on.

"Don't hold it against you so tightly," Sunny warns. "Do that with a bigger caliber, and it'll break your collarbone." Lola nods, trying to relax. Another bullet misses, and embeds itself in the back wall of the Saloon.

"Try crouching down and aiming." Lola does as she's told, tilting her head to the side as she tries aiming down the sights. A bottle shatters with a satisfying crash. She stands again, and tries shooting another one. Two more come down. Sunny nods, flashing her a grin.

"Good. But I reckon you didn't come here to learn how to fend off Sarsparilla bottles," she says.

"No, ma'am."

"You interested in clearing out some Geckos with me? I'll pay you for your time," Sunny offers.

"Sounds good," she answers. The two women make their way to the watering holes, chatting leisurely about nothing on particular. Lola lets the other woman do most of the talking. When they near the first one, Sunny crouches down behind a rock and motions for her to do the same. Lola leans up against the rock, looking around the corner to see three geckos milling around.

Lola manages to shoot the closet one down before the other take notice of them. After the geckos are dead, the move up the hill to the second watering hole. More linger at the top of the hill, and the two women are easily spotted. Lola misses a few shots before hitting a gecko, and curses quietly. An ear-splitting scream cuts through the stagnant Mojave air.

"You got this?" Lola yells to Sunny. The other woman waves her away and Lola takes off running. She jumps down the ledge to the distressed woman below, rolling into the fall. She stands up, swinging her gun to point at an attacking gecko. It sinks it's teeth into her shoulder. She cries out in pain, and with great difficultly, presses the gun against the gecko's head. When it falls, she shoots at the remaining geckos. She kicks away one that gets too close before shooting it between the eyes. The woman grabs her arm reflexively, and Lola's shoulder throbs. She grimly makes quick work of the last monster. Lola looks over her shoulder at the quivering woman, and sees Sunny come running down the hill toward them.

"Hell's bells!" she shouts. "What have I told you about coming here by yourself?" The woman, who looks no older than twenty, grips Lola's arm tighter as she takes her scolding, and she does her best not to wince at the pain. Sunny runs a hand through her hair and tells the girl to follow her back to town. She looks up at Lola with wide, watery eyes.

"Thank you," she whispers, holding out a few bottles of water. "Take this. You look like you need it." Lola takes one, and motions toward an aggravated Sunny.

"We better take you back," she says. The girl nods, and the three of them make their way back to Goodsprings.

Sunny hovers over her the entire way, and demands she goes to see Doc Mitchell when they get to town. Lola looks ruefully down at the caps Sunny pays her, and doesn't want to spend them all on a doctor's visit. She knocks on Doc Mitchell's door, and he opens it. His expression turns grim when he sees that it's her.

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to treat you again so soon," he says. She smiles.

"Just a gecko bite. I can patch myself up with some…" she says, her voice trailing off and a blushing creeping over her cheeks. She's trying to think of the word she wants. "Some white fabric. You wrap it around wounds, and you-"

"Gauze?" he asks, sympathy coloring his voice. She nods bitterly and he steps aside to let her in. "You should probably let me take a look. It'll be free of charge." He motions to a chair, and she plops down in it. The good doctor probably thought she wasn't all there, and knew nothing about taking care of herself.

She is worried he may be right.

When he comes back with the gauze, she notices he's holding a bottle of vodka and a book. He sets everything down on the table in front of her.

"I was thinking we could start your lessons," he said, gesturing to the book. "Help you get your grasp of language back, so you wouldn't have to feel embarrassed." She gives him a tired smile, and nods.

* * *

><p>Later that night, she thanks Doc Mitchell and leaves with a tremendous headache. Words she can't make sense of buzz around in her mind. But she feels surprisingly serene. Doc Mitchell had been patient with her, and said that she would make progress, given time. She just isn't sure how much time she has.<p>

Her stomach growls, and so she makes her way to the Prospector Saloon. Angry voices greet her ears when she opens the door.

"I'm done being nice," a man in blue security armor snarls. "If you don't hand over Ringo soon, I'm going to get my friends and we're going to burn this town to the ground, got it?" Trudy's arms are crossed tightly over her chest, and she radiates a look of disinterest. But Lola makes out her stiff posture, and the grim line her mouth is set in.

"We'll keep that in mind. Now, if you aren't going to buy anything, get out," Trudy says, hand motioning toward the door. Lola is impressed by how tough she sounds. The man swears, and stalks away, bumping Lola roughly with his shoulder.

"You got a problem?" he growls, and Lola raises her hands in a gesture of surrender. He seems momentarily satisfied, and slams the door on his way out.

"Who was that Casanova?" she asks Trudy, who pulls out a broom to begin sweeping up some broken shot glasses.

"Joe Cobb. Sorriest son of a bitch I've seen in a while," Trudy answers.

"Who is Ringo?" Lola asks. Trudy sighs, leaning against her broom.

"This trader who waltzed into town about a week ago. He said he was a survivor of an attack, and needs a place to hide. Has bad men after him. All he's done since showing up is get our town dragged into something it doesn't want to be involved with," Trudy tells her, and bitterness is evident in the town of her voice. Lola nods.

"Where's he stowed up?" Trudy tilts her head.

"Pardon?"

"Sorry. _Holed _up? Where's he hiding?"

"Old gas station by Doc Mitchell's place," she answers, eyeing Lola. "What're you going to do?"

"See if I can't help any." Trudy shakes her head before continuing her sweeping, and says,

"Don't get shot again."


	3. Guns Ablazin'

Chapter Three: Guns A-blazin'

_Never confuse movement with action.-Ernest Hemingway_

Lola surveys the decrepit old gas station with an expression of ambivalence. It isn't the best place to hide, but it's better than being out in the open. She cracks open the Sunset Sarsaparilla machine and fishes out what few sodas remain. She pushes the door to the gas station open to find the gas station seemingly empty.

"Huh," she breathes. The click of a gun cocking echoes throughout the gas station, and she feels a hard barrel pressed against her temple. "I've already been shot once in the head, friend. I don't think it'll do you any good."

"Who are you?" a male voice asks suspiciously.

"Lola Haze. I hear you have a thug problem." The man lowers the gun, and steps out from behind the door.

"You're not going to kill me?" he asks unsurely.

"Not if you don't try and kill me first," she answers honestly. He grins sheepishly, holstering his pistol.

"Sorry about the gun," he says. "You caught me off-guard. I wasn't expecting anyone to try and help me. We got off to a bad start. What do you say we talk over a friendly game of Caravan? You know how to play?"

"No," she answers. "But I'm willing to learn." After Ringo explains the rules of the game with an amusing fervor, Lola sits down and pretends to understand everything he said. They talk as he lays the cards out.

"Tell me about Joe Cobb," she says, laying down an Ace. Ringo becomes visibly uneasy.

"He doesn't seem that tough. He won't come near here. I heard he's afraid I'll shoot him down from one of the windows, and he's right." He pats his revolver as if to reassure himself. He lays down a three. "He's a Powder Ganger, part of a chain gang. They're NCR prisoners that managed to escape with a shitload of dynamite. Probably wasn't a good idea to give explosives to convicts." He smiles nervously.

"What are you going to do?"

"Aw, hell. Lay low, and hope the townspeople don't throw me to the wolves. I can't take the whole gang on my own," he says, staring at the cards.

"Cobb threatened to burn down Goodsprings if you weren't brought to him," she lays down a King, making a face. He eyes her with a troubled look.

"You gonna give me to them?"

"No. I'm going to get rid of them. Any ideas?" Ringo scratches his chin thoughtfully.

"I'd start with Sunny Smiles. She's been friendlier than most." Lola nods, and stands to leave. When she reaches the door, Ringo stops her.

"Hey. I don't have many caps on me, but if you get me out of this, I'll get the Crimson Caravan to reimburse you for your trouble. "

"S'no trouble at all," she answers before walking out. She gazes at Victor's shack, wondering if the robot will let her stay there again.

"Well, I'll be!" he exclaims as she walks up. "You look tired as hell." She winces.

"That obvious?"

"Yep! You need a place to stay again?"

"If you don't mind," she answers gratefully.

"Don't mind at all!" She follows the robot into the shack once again, ignoring the flag. She plops down on the bed, and looks up at the robot.

"Victor, how good of a shot are you?"

"Pretty darn good one. How come?"

"Can you help me get rid of some thugs? I don't want anything to happen to these people," she asks softly. "You've already done so much-"

"Course I will! Just tell me when and where!" the robot exclaims gleefully. "I've been raring to go!" She smiles, getting used to the robot's strange ways.

"Tank-_Thanks_," she says, before lying down to go to sleep.

When she wakes up in the morning, Victor is gone again. She rubs her eyes in an effort to wake up. She'll find the robot later. For now, she needs to go talk to Sunny.

* * *

><p>"Say no more. I'm in," Sunny says, flashing a grin at Lola.<p>

"That was easy," she says, surprised. She sits on the ground, playing with Cheyenne. Sunny laughs.

"Joe Cobb talks about leaving us alone if we hand over Ringo, but I know his type. He and his friends will come for the town eventually." Lola nods, scratching Cheyenne behind the ears as she continues to listen to Sunny speak. "But between you, me and Ringo, we aren't exactly a force to be reckoned with. A lot of people around here look up to Trudy, myself included," she says, shooting the bartender a look. Trudy sets the glass she was cleaning down.

"Don't bring me into this," she warns. "I don't want nothing to do with it." Sunny ignores her, a mischievous grin on her face.

"You should help us," Lola says casually. "Bullets. Explosions."

"It'll be fun," Sunny adds. Trudy looks between the two girls, and curses under her breath before reaching for another glass to clean.

"Who else?"

"Well, I know Easy Pete has a supply of dynamite stockpiled somewhere, and Chet just got a shipment of leather armor in. Oh, and we're probably going to get shot full of holes so we should get Doc Mitchell to loan us some stimpacks." Lola nods.

"All right. Let's go talk to everyone."

* * *

><p>"Now just hold on," Chet stutters. "I never agreed to take on Powder Gangers! That's a thousand cap investment you're talking about!" Lola grits her teeth. She hadn't been able to talk Easy Pete into giving them any dynamite. He had been convinced they were going to blow Goodsprings off of the map with it. It probably hadn't helped that Lola couldn't remember the word dynamite to save her life while talking to him.<p>

"Let them take over, then," she hisses. "I'm sure that'll be just dandy for business." Chet pales.

"All right," he says shakily, running a hand through his thinning hair. "You've made your point. I can provide you with leather armor and extra ammo." He goes to the back of the store to bring the items to her.

"I sure hope this is worth it," he calls over the clanking of boxes. "I'm going to stay here and watch over the store. To, you know, protect my investment." She eyes the rest of the merchandise on display, and sees a black hat on the head of one of the mannequins. _Fedora,_ she remembers. _Sam Spade._ She delicately lifts it off of the mannequin. It isn't in the best condition, but she knows she can fix it up. She tries it on, pleased to feel it covering her bullet scar.

"I'll take the hat, too," she tells Chet when he reemerges with their supplies.

When she leaves the store, she sees Sunny waiting for her with a bag. She lifts it up to show Lola.

"Doc Mitchell gave us stimpacks. How'd it go with Easy Pete and Chet?"

"It's a no-go on the dynamite, but I got the rest of the supplies. " Sunny nods.

"We'll make do. I'd probably blow myself to high heaven if given any dynamite anyway," she says, squinting toward the gas station. "Let's go tell Ringo."

Ringo is ecstatic when they walk into the gas station. The three shimmy into their leather armor, and Sunny pinches Ringo for sneaking peeks at them. She goes to recon the areas around the General Store and the Prospector Saloon. Lola keeps Ringo company, and they play another hand of Caravan that she inevitably loses. Ringo laughs.

"Cough up those caps," he declares, shuffling the cards to ready another game.

"You roped this," Lola grumbles, setting the caps in front of him.

"Sorry?" he asks, and she winces.

"Rigged. You _rigged_ this." He flashes her a winning smile.

"Don't be such a sore loser, Lola. I'll make it up to you by treating you to a drink. " Before Lola can answer the invitation, Sunny bursts through the door.

"It's show time, guys! They're here," she pants. Lola and Ringo nod, their Caravan game all but forgotten. Lola palms the 9 mm in her hand, surprised at how natural it feels. She looks anxiously for Victor, and sees him in front of his shack. His screen is blank, like he has been turned off. She loses focus on him once she hears the first gunshot. Crouching behind an abandoned house, she takes aim at the first powder ganger charging the Prospector. He falls with a sickening thud, and Lola lines Joe Cobb in her sights. He shoots at her first, and she swears, falling back behind the building.

"You're the one who's been stirring up trouble," his voice says. She steps over some withered Nevada agave, and dives behind a fence as he shoots another round. "Well, it ain't gonna do you no good. We're gonna kill Ringo, and use this place for kindling!" She looks around the corner to see him searching for her. He bends over, looking underneath a destroyed trailer. She aims her gun at the area between his shoulder blades, and he topples over. She hears dynamite go off in the distance, and hopes its Easy Pete. She takes out a few more gangers making her way back to the saloon. When she reaches it, the townspeople are dragging dead powders gangers out of the road.

"That was awful quick," she says. Easy Pete lights a cigarette with a lit piece of dynamite, and flings it toward an escaping powder ganger. After the resulting bang goes off, he exhales a puff of smoke.

"Always is," he grunts, and walks back to his empty seat in front of the saloon. She finds a wide-eyed Ringo, and says with a smirk,

"I'll take that drink now."


	4. Primm and Proper

Chapter Four: Primm and Proper

_Wandering re-establishes the original harmony which once existed between man and the universe.- Anatole France_

Nothing can contain the jovial atmosphere that permeates the Prospector Saloon. The residents are laughing and singing, and Trudy watches the proceedings with an amused smile on her face. Not one Goodsprings resident died, and she can hardly believe it. Lola sits next to Ringo, who is slumped over the bar, and she stares at her 9 mm resting in its holster. The gun had felt natural, like an extension of her arm.

That worries her beyond measure.

"Hey," Sunny leans over the bar, setting a glass of Nuka Cola in front of Lola. She'd been helping Trudy behind the bar. "That was some fine shooting. You're a quick study!"

"Maybe you're just a good teacher," Lola teases, mainly to hide her unease. Ringo turns his head to look at Lola. He drunkenly beams at her. She tensely returns his smile, taking a sip of her soda.

"This isn't what I expected when I offered to buy you a drink," Ringo slurs, motioning to her soda.

"And what did you expect?" she asks, catching him by the shoulders when he over-extends his arm, falling off of his barstool.

"To not make an ass of myself," he murmurs as she helps him back into his seat. "What's next for you?"

"Yeah, I take it you aren't going to stay and help fend off convicts indefinitely?" Sunny asks. Lola laughs.

"No. I'm going after the man who shot me," she says with more confidence than she feels.

_"An 18-carat run of bad luck." _She shudders, and takes another sip of her cola.

* * *

><p>She lingers a few more days in Goodsprings, helping the residents with various odds and ends. She becomes so well-liked that even Chet gives her a discount at the General Store. Doc Mitchell continues to teach her how to read and speak, and gives her two of his best books to read on the road when she leaves. She delicately sets them aside in her pack, and gives him a sincere, misspoken thank you.<p>

Sunny explains about NCR and Caesar's Legion, and gives her traveling advice.

"Travel at night so you won't fall ill with heat exhaustion, and watch out for Powder Gangers. I'm sure they've heard of you by now," Sunny warns, handing her an extra box of 5.56 ammo, which Lola sets next to the books. "Go to Primm. It's the town with the big rollercoaster. You can't miss it. That's where the nearest Mojave Express is. I'm sure they'll know something about your delivery. "

When night falls, the last person she visits is Victor.

"Well, I reckon you're heading out," the robot says. She nods.

"Are you all right? You were shut done-_down_ the last time I saw you," she asks worriedly.

"I had the strangest urge to go to sleep," the robot says thoughtfully. "Sorry for missing all of the fun, darlin'. But from what I've heard, Ol' Vic would've just gotten in your way. "

"You would have done fine," she answers, patting the robot's metallic arm.

"You have a safe trip, pardner," he says, and she swears he almost sounds touched.

"Take care of yourself, Victor," she says, and turns to leave Goodsprings behind.

* * *

><p>The roads are winding and cracked, and Lola feels an odd sense of nostalgia at walking through the Mojave night. She feels strangely at peace, but can't help looking back as Goodsprings fades in the distance. The town's citizens took her in, and she can almost call the small settlement home. But she pushes those thoughts from her mind, and focuses on the dark horizon. She has a man in a checkered suit to catch.<p>

She sees a group of men milling about aimlessly in front of her. She crouches down behind a rock, and squints to see them better. She can just barely make out the letters 'NCRCF' on the back of their shirts. She counts about ten of them, and they don't look happy. They look like they're looking for something. Remembering Sunny's warning, she looks for a place to lay low. A weathered sign proclaims "Jean Sky Diving" in peeling orange letters. She makes her way to the building, mindful to stay hidden in the shadows, and pressed against the rocks.

"You hear something?" she hears one of them call. Footsteps stop just past the rock she is hiding behind. She freezes, hand on her pistol. She plots how to best take the group on if they find her. Shoot the first one who finds her, and take off running to the darkest part of the area. Find a high place away from where their dynamite can reach, and shoot them from a safe vantage point. She should have bought that silencer off of Chet, even if he did want a ridiculous 500 caps-

"I didn't hear anything," another convict answers, and the group goes back to searching. She hears their footsteps move away from her, and she silently lets out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She makes it to the Jean Sky Diving shack, and locks the door behind her. She barricades it for good measure, and looks around her surroundings. An aged copy of Dean's Electronics lays abandoned on the desk, and lockers line the back wall. She settles in with the book, and keeps an eye on the door. She just has to wait for the convicts to clear out. She knows how to kill them, she realizes with a cold dread creeping over her skin.

She doesn't want to have to kill them.

* * *

><p>The rollercoaster looks about ready to fall apart. She can see it in the distance, and her heart flutters in her chest. She doesn't remember Primm, or the Mojave Express. She sifts through what few things she can remember, but that isn't very much. Hopefully someone there knows her.<p>

"Hey!" a voice calls. The pistol is out of its holster and pointed in the direction of the voice before she realizes it. A man in trooper armor with the letters 'NCR' sprawled across the chest stops short of her, eyeing the pistol warily.

"Sorry," she calls, putting the pistol back in the holster. "What's up?"

"You can't go this way. Primm's been over-run by convicts," the solider says. She makes a face.

"For how long?"

"A couple of weeks now. It isn't safe. If you want to travel this way, try to stay west of the highway," he warns.

"I have to talk to the head of the Mojave Express," she answers. "It's important." He shakes his head.

"It's your funeral," he says, walking back toward army tents that are set up. She takes a closer look at Primm, and sees men armed with guns stalking through the streets.

"Shit," she swears. She makes her way to the town's gate, careful to keep to the shadows. The sun slowly creeps over the horizon, and she reminds herself to stand so her shadow doesn't give her away as she's sneaking. She hides behind a building, and looks around the corner at the street. It is seemingly empty, so she quickly runs down it, careful to keep her steps light. She hears activity inside of a building that proudly proclaims "Vikki and Vance's Saloon". A convict rounds the corner, and she dives inside of the building. A group of people startles as she enters, and the barrel of a gun is thrust in her face.

"I don't know what's brought you to Primm, youngster," the man holding the gun says. "But you might want to re-think your plans." She gingerly sets her 9 mm down, and slowly stands.

"I'm looking for the head of the Mojave Express. I'm a courier," she explains. He lowers his gun.

"That would be me. I'm Johnson Nash. I'm afraid I don't have any work right now. Sorry, but the whole town's gone to hell," he says.

"I lost a package I was supposed to deliver," she says, pushing the man in the checkered suit's voice from her mind.

"Well, I'll tell you what I can. Do you have a delivery order you can show me?" he asks. She fishes the order out of her pocket, and hands it to him. "Oh. You're talking about one of _them _packages."

"What about those packages?" she asks, her stomach churning.

"That job had strange written all over it. But we couldn't turn down the caps," he says, shaking his head.

"What was stro-strange about them?

"A cowboy robot had us hire six couriers," he says. Lola's eyebrows furrow at that. Victor hadn't mentioned anything about that, unless there were more cowboy robots rolling around. "Each was carrying something a little different. A pair of dice, a chess piece. Things like that. Last I heard, payment had been received for the other five packages. I guess it was just your chip that didn't make it. First deadbeat we hired to do the job cancelled. Hope a storm from the divide skins him alive. Well, that's where you came in."

"He cancelled?"

"Yeah, got this look on his face when he saw you next down on the courier list. His expression turned right around, asked me if your name was for real. I said, sure as lack of rain you were still kickin'. Then he turned down the job, just like that. I asked if he was sure, that it was good money. No, 'let Courier Six carry the package' he said. And then he just walked out. Like the Mojave would sort you out or something." She quietly thinks over what Nash told her.

"Do you know who he was?" she asks softly. He shakes his head.

"No idea. Sounds like you two had some sort of history for him to act like that. And turn down the money, too. Hope he didn't see any trouble in that package of yours. Maybe he thought your name was bad luck. Not for me to say," he says.

_ Bad luck. _She shakes her head. No use in dwelling on what she can't remember.

"Some men stole my package. A man in a checkered suit and some thugs. Did they come this way?"

"Well, now that you mention it," Nash says thoughtfully. "A few nights back, one of the townies was scavenging for supplies. He said he saw a fella with a daisy suit come through with some of them Great Khan misfits. They was talking about a chip."

"One of those men shot me. I need to know the best way to get to them," she says quietly. Nash rubs his chin thoughtfully.

"Well, for that your best bet is going to be to talk to Deputy Beagle. Since those folks came to town, he was keeping a good bit of notes on them, and he was slinking around the Bison Steve when your pretty boy friend came through. He may have heard where they were going." She nods, sighing softly to herself.

Looks like she might have to kill more people after all.


	5. Something's Gotta Give

Chapter Five: Something's Gotta Give

_A fanatic is one who sticks to his guns, whether they're loaded or not. – Franklin P. Jones_

Deputy Beagle had gotten himself captured by the Powder Gangers just before Lola had arrived. Nash firmly insists that he doesn't know anything about the man in the checkered suit, and Beagle is the only one with information. She secretly suspects that this is a ploy to get her to rescue the man. She wants to protest that she isn't in the business of rescuing inept deputies, but she agrees none-the-less. She might as well do some good. She manages to buy a silencer off of Nash, and sits down at the bar of the saloon to fix it to her gun.

Something tells her that she is going to have a long night.

"Well, hello there!" Lola looks up from her gun to see a kindly old woman smiling down at her. She smiles back, and lets the woman continue speaking. "I'm Ruby Nash, Johnson's wife."

"Pleased to make your a-"Lola stops, trying to think of the right word. After a tense moment, she simply says "Pleased to meet you." The woman smiles brilliantly.

"You too, sweetie. Are you going to rescue that foolish deputy of ours?"

"I'll do my best, ma'am," she answers, looking back down at her gun.

"Are you hungry? I can get you some Radscorpion casserole," Ruby offers. That causes Lola's head to snap back up.

"Radscorpion casserole?" she asks incredulously. Ruby nods.

"It's really quite tasty. The poison gives it a smoky flavor. You just have to make sure you don't have any open sores in your mouth or the poison'll get in your blood stream and kill you deader than hell," she says.

"I'd love some," Lola says slowly. Ruby goes to fetch it and Lola briefly feels her mouth for any open wounds before she gets back. The smell reaches her before Ruby does, and her mouth starts to water. The casserole _does_ smell good. Ruby sets it in front of her with a grin.

"Eat up, dearie. There's plenty more where that came from. Everyone else 'round here seems wary of it for some reason," she chuckles. Lola thanks her before digging into it. After a few minutes of vigorous eating, she looks up to see the locals whispering among themselves and pointing at her. She looks to a smiling Ruby with gravy dripping down her chin.

"No table manners, eh?" Ruby teases, tenderly wiping her chin off with a napkin. Lola turns red and sets her fork down.

"Sorry," she mutters, and goes back to working on her gun.

* * *

><p>She sneaks out of the casino and makes her way to the Bison Steve. The doors creak loudly and she dives behind a desk when she hears footsteps. A man steps into the foyer.<p>

"Huh," he says. "Must've been my imagination." When he leaves, Lola makes her way to the hallway. Two armed men are patrolling, and she moves into a cluttered room when one of them turns. She hides behind a sales counter, a safe underneath her feet. The man walks in the room, and she aims her gun at her. She shoots him, and he falls to the ground with a soft thud. Unable to resist the safe, she pulls out a bobby pin and her screwdriver. She bites her lip as she works to unlock it, and stays alert for the sound of footsteps. With a muttered curse, she breaks the pin. She pulls out another and continues to work on the lock. It opens with a soft click, and she finds a .357 magnum with a club etched on it's side. She holsters it, and moves over to the door. She looks past the doorway into the hall to see the second man looking for his partner. She takes him out when he walks toward where she is hiding. She loots through the dead men's pockets for ammo and food. One of the men had grenades on him, and she puts those on her belt. Might come in handy.

She moves down the hallway, keeping her footsteps light and her body against the wall. She turns down a hallway and comes across a locked door. She unlocks it with better luck than the last lock, and walks through the door. She comes to a kitchen and sees a man tied up in the corner.

"I don't suppose you came to rescue me, did you gorgeous?" the man asks quietly. "I'd cross my fingers, but my hands are numb."

"You must be Deputy Beagle," she says dryly.

"Why yes I am. It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am. I'm in a bit of a predicament here. I'd be most appreciative if you would set me free," he says with a hint of pleading to his voice.

"How did you end up being called-_caught _anyway?" she asks.

"Well," he chuckles. "I must say it was a low point in my career in law enforcement. The Powder Gangers stole into town at night and murdered my sister and her husband, the sheriff, in their bed while I was sleeping in the office. I watched them for a bit, waiting for the right moment to pounce and arrest the lot of them, taking careful notes as I went along. To my dismay, they found me and brought me here."

"I hear you have some information on the man in the checkered suit that shot me," she says. He chuckles.

"You get right down to business, don't you? I'd be happy to share that information with you, madam, if you would only set me free." Indignation burns through her, but she unties him. He rubs his wrists, and shoots her a winning smile.

"Oh, that's just marvelous. I think I'll be heading outside now. The air is a little tight in here," he says.

"I didn't cut you loose so you could run away!" she whispers, aggravated. "Stick with me-"

"Hey!" an angry voice yells. She turns to see the barrel of a convict's gun pointed in her face.

"Shit," she swears, drawing her pistol and shooting the man. She turns back to make sure Beagle hasn't gotten shot, but he is scrambling out of the door. She swears again as she hears gunfire coming from the lobby. Air hisses out through her clenched teeth as a bullet grazes her arm. She pulls a grenade from her belt, and pulls the pin out with her teeth. After quickly counting to three, she throws it. She takes off running down the hall, and hears the explosion as she reaches the end. She doesn't hear anyone following her, but speeds up her pace just in case. When she reaches the outside of the Bison Steve, Beagle is grinning, waiting for her.

She wants to slap the smile off of his face.

"Well, that was quite an adventure! We taught those convicts a thing or two, didn't we? Breaking myself out of a hostage situation-not to diminish your role in it-was quite thrilling!" She grasps the bridge of her nose, and lets out a long-suffering sigh.

"Tell me about the man in the checkered suit," she says.

"I would, darlin'" he drawls. "But, you see, Primm is still in need of a sheriff and-"

Before he can finish his sentence, she punches him in the face.

* * *

><p>She scratches her head as she walks down the Long 15. Maybe she shouldn't have been so rash with Beagle. He could hardly speak without blood gushing from his nose, so she had to get the rest of the details from a very un-amused Johnson Nash.<p>

She had three choices-she could get a sheriff incarcerated at NCRCF, reprogram Primm Slim, or get the NCR to take Primm underneath it's protection. There was no way in hell she was going to be able to get into the NCRCF, and she didn't know anything about robots. She figures the NCR would be the easiest to deal with.

So far, she is right. Lieutenant Hayes sent her on her way to Mojave Outpost. She has to do a little walking, but she does that anyway as a courier. She smiles, pleased she is able to remember that small tidbit of her life.

She sets up camp at the Nipton Road Rest Stop. The sun had been up for a couple of hours, and she is feeling groggy and tired. After clearing out a few radscorpions, she walks up the steps of the general store. She stoops over and picks up a piece of paper on the corner of the porch. It's a lottery ticket. She shakes her head incredulously, and drops it where she found it before walking into the store.

The store is in disarray, as if someone had been in a hurry when they left. She scavenges around for any food and ammo, and makes her way to the back of the store to set up her pallet to sleep on. A copy of Pugilism Illustrated sits next to the register, and she happily takes it and flips through it's pages. She's getting better at this reading thing. Her head hurts less, and she's starting to remember words she had previously forgotten. A loose page falls out of the book, and she catches it on her boot. She picks up it to read it's tiny, messy scrawl.

' _I can hardly believe my luck. Literally. I'm agape._

_Just now I was approached by a rather intense young man calling himself __"Mr. Fox." (Yeah, right.) When we were alone in my office, he let it be known that he is a member of Caesar's Legion(!)._

_He knew that __NCR troops and Powder Gangers often spend time in Nipton. It turns out that the Legion hates and wishes to make an example of both groups, the NCR for obvious reasons, and Powder Gangers for harassing Legion raiding parties on this side of the river._

_I didn't have to think a moment about Mr. Fox's proposition before accepting it. All I have to do is convince the Powders to kidnap the NCR troops at night. When both groups are in town, the Legion boys will scoop everyone up. Ha!_

_For this simple task, I have been offered 8,000 __CAPS! I could almost go back to the NCR right away... but who knows how much else I might make off this Legion lackey?_

_I'm going to start stockpiling some supplies in a safe house between here and the Mojave Outpost, just in case I decide to head back home in a hurry..._

_Very exciting!_

_Signed, with a steady hand,_  
><em>(on the keyboard)<em>

_Super-Mayor Joseph B. Steyn, III Esq._

"Sounds awful," she murmurs, setting the note aside. She rolls out her pallet and plops down on it. She cracks open a Sunset Sarsaparilla she found in the store, and opens her new copy of Pugilism Illustrated again, teaching herself the words that had been lost to her.


	6. The Ferryman

Chapter Six: The Ferryman

_A man's greatest good luck is to die at the right time.- _Eric Hopper

Lola wakes up feeling oddly refreshed, despite waking up while the sun is still up. She finds a bottle cap with a strange blue star and pockets it, humming softly to herself. She leaves the Nipton Rest Stop behind, and makes her way up the hill to Mojave Outpost. The sun hangs high in the sky by the time she reaches the Outpost, and she blinks sweat out of her eyes. Her head cranes up to gaze at the statue of two men shaking hands in awe before moving on.

Merchants and brahmin mull around listlessly. After trading with one of the more friendly ones, she asks where she could find someone in charge. She is directed to a tired looking man named Sergeant Kilborne leaning against the statues.

"Hey," he greets.

"Hey," she says in reply. "What're the statues for?"

"These two? Represents unification. Mostly good for shade," he says, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. "Won't stop the Legion when they come for us." She tries not to focus on how he said 'when' and not 'if'.

"I need to find a Major Knight about Primm," she says, and he lets out a low whistle.

"You traveling from up north? You must be crazy to brave those sorts of roads," he says. "Major Knight'll be in Outpost Headquarters, that building to the right of the opening to the fence. Bar's the building to the left. Not very much, but it's good a place as any to shake the dust off." She nods, thanking him quietly before heading to the Outpost Headquarters.

A tired looking young man with his elbows on the counter in front of him is the first thing she sees when she walks in.

"Caravan, citizen or…?" he asks dully, not looking up at her.

"Courier," she answers, and he scribbles it down in his worn registry.

"Just need something for the logs. Now, what can I do for you?" he asks, almost wearily.

"I'm looking for a Major Knight," she says, and he raises his eyebrows.

"That's me. What's up?" he says, looking her up and down. She's sure she looks untrustworthy and rugged.

"I'd like to talk to you about Primm," she answers.

"Primm? Hayes' unit is stationed up there, but they were having some problems with some escaped convicts."

"Primm has seen better days," she says, trying to keep her voice even.

"It has. It was a promising trade town before the escape at the correctional facility," he says before chuckling fondly. "I lost a good bit of money at the Vikki and Vance."

"The town's people are holding," she pauses. She had meant to say hiding. Knight tilts his head, and she continues. "Holding their ground in the casino, but they'll quickly run out of supplies if nothing is done. Hayes is undermanned, and is requesting ad-additional support, " she stutters on that last part, but is otherwise proud at being able to say so much with very little mistakes. A pained expression comes over his face.

"I'd like to help," he says, and waits patiently for the explanation. "But we can't spare anymore units. We need to have a minimum head count out here. Orders from out West, " he says, rolling his eyes.

"Well," she begins slowly, racking her brain. "Having Primm, and the trade route that goes with it, would only help strengthen the West. I'm sure they wouldn't mind sparing a unit or two." Knight's eyes light up and he nods vigorously.

"I can see the wisdom in that. I'll radio for a unit to head up to Primm and offer some additional support." She thanks him with a smile, and notices the tools laying neatly underneath the counter.

"Do you do repairs?"

"Yeah. You need something repaired?" She takes off her hat, and sticks her index finger through one of the newer tattered holes it has acquired.

"Reckon so," she says, He takes it from her, and says,

"Just need you to sign this paper work." She makes a face, but does as she's told.

* * *

><p>Major Knight warns her that it might take all day to get her hat fixed since he was so swamped with repairs. She decides to wander around the Outpost looking for ways to help out while she's waiting. She can remember how to repair her weapons, but she has yet to remember how to sew, and it makes her wonder if she ever knew how in the first place.<p>

She heads to the bar first to get something to eat. When she opens the door, cigarette smoke billows out and she stops for a minute to let her eyes get adjusted to the dim lighting. She sees barracks to the left of the bar, and a woman leaning against the counter downing shot after shot of bright, amber whiskey. Lola walks up to the bar, and plops down beside the drinking woman.

"New face in the Outpost," the bartender says, sparing her a glance. "Must've come from up north. What'll you have?"

"Sunset sarsaparilla and a caravan lunch," Lola answers. The bartender nods, and goes to get her order. The drinking woman looks at Lola with a blurry gaze.

"Looking for trouble?" she slurs.

"No, only looking around," Lola answers.

"Well, keep those eyes up and turning. Or I'll set them spinning," she says, downing another shot. Under her breath, she mutters, "Ain't got no time for gawkers, or people looking to buy what I ain't sellin'."

"How 'bout a drink?" Lola offers, though not unkindly. The woman snorts.

"'How 'bout a drink'? How 'bout a couple of drinks, you mean. Drinking to forget, but the whiskey always gets my temper up. Now more than ever," she says with a hint of sadness that softens the edge to her voice, and moodily pouring another shot. She looks over at Lola, and seems surprised to find her still sitting next to her. "Drinking used to cause me all sorts of trouble back West- before I punched enough people, that is, and they learned to lay low when the whiskey hit."

"Well then, I suppose I'll just have to mind my manners then," Lola jokes, and is rewarded with a faint smile. "What are you trying to fort-_forget_, ma'am?" The woman stiffens, and Lola adds softly, "I can't talk all that well, so it makes me a good listener."

"Lost my caravan up north," the woman begins after a moment of debating with herself. "The driver was burned to ash. They didn't even take the cargo-they burned that too."

"That doesn't make any sense. Maybe raiders?" The bartender sets Lola's meal in front of her, and eyes the drinking woman almost nervously. Lola pops the cap off of her Sunset Sarsaparilla to take a drink.

"My guess is Legion, trying to cut NCR supply lines. This outpost is proof. They got us locked up tighter than a new Vegas virgin," the woman says, and Lola snorts into her soda. The woman grins cheekily and hands her a napkin. "No caravans in, or out. And just try to argue with Jackson about it. I know I have. 'Roads aren't safe' he says. No shit, you washed out old fuck-up. I didn't need a Brotherhood scribe to tell me that," she says bitterly.

"What's keeping you here?" Lola asks.

"My god damn caravan papers," she answers, and doesn't seem to want to say anything more on the subject. Lola nods, and, for lack of anything else to say, says,

"Name's Haze." The woman looks up at her, startled, and says,

"Cass. Why are you here anyway, miss manners?"

"Getting reinforcements for Primm. Getting repairs done, so I'm looking to kill time."

"I'd go to the Crimson Caravan headquarters up near Vegas," Cass says, pouring two shots of whiskey and setting one in front of Lola. "They can help you out if you're looking for work."

"Thanks," Lola says, and gingerly picks up the overflowing shot glass.

"I think Ghost is looking for someone to hoof it to some god-forsaken place or another," Cass says, pounding her fist on the bar. "Hey, Lacey! Is Ghost looking for someone?" The some of the other NCR troopers jump at the volume of Cass' voice, but most just shake their heads. The bartender tilts her head thoughtfully.

"Yeah, I think she is. Man, is she one stone cold bitch though," Lacey says, shaking her head. Catching Lola's eye, she adds, "Don't tell her I said that. I don't want to catch a bullet to the head when I go out to the latrine some night." Lola nods, and assures her silence.

"Where can I find her?"

"Up top of this building," Lacey answers. Lola moves to leave, but Cass' voice stops her.

"You just got here. No need to be a hardass and work all the time. Got plenty of whiskey left," she offers, and a lonely undertone colors her voice. Lola smiles, and sits back down.

"I'd love to stay," she says, and Cass grins before setting another shot of whiskey down in front of her, whiskey sloshing over the edges and on to the counter.

* * *

><p>"She's normally not so friendly," Lacey comments as Lola pulls a slumped over Cass off of the bar, and leans her against her shoulder. "Poor thing's been kind of sour ever since her caravan got killed." Lola pulls Cass to the first available bed, and gently lays her down. Her hat falls off of her head, and she shifts before rolling over and settling in against the pillows. Lola picks her hat up and sets it on the chair next to the bed.<p>

She hadn't even tried to keep up with Cass' drinking, only downing a shot now and then. Her limbs feel pleasantly heavy, and her skin nicely warm, but she isn't tired yet. She walks out into the cool Mojave night, and decides to talk to Ghost about the job she'd been hearing about. She walks up the ramp to the roof of a building to see a pale woman standing on the corner of the roof, keeping a vigilant guard on the north-east.

"Damn, but are your footsteps loud," she says by way of greeting. Lola grins sheepishly.

"Sorry. Didn't think I'd have to worry about sneaking, Didn't want to get shouted at," she says. _Didn't want to get shot at. _The woman nods. "Are you Ghost?"

"Sure am. What do you want?"

"I hear you have a job that needs to be done," Lola says.

"Interested, huh? All right. I think there's trouble in Nipton. No traffic on the roads from there, and while I can explain that away, the smoke from the town I can't." She motions to the direction she's been looking, and Lola can just make out smoke against the quickly darkening night sky. "I'm sure the town's been hit-what I need to know is if they survived it. It might be Powder Gangers will all of that smoke in the air. If there's anybody left, they'll be in the Nipton town hall."

"Lovely," Lola mutters, whatever euphoria left over from the whiskey quickly deserting her. "How long has the town been burning?"

"Few hours at most. I would've gone to check it myself, but I gotta man my post. Don't think I wouldn't though. Town's got enough camping spots to rack up some easy kills. Not about to have Jackson on my ass again though," she says.

"I'll do it," Lola says with conviction, and Ghost smiles slightly.

"Look at you, all raring to go. Wish everyone else had your enthusiasm. But listen, I don't want you getting yourself killed for this. I'm asking for eyes and ears, not your life, all right?"

"Got it," she says. Ghost nods, and she takes that as her cue to leave. She leaves Mojave outpost to walk down the broken highway to Nipton. The night is cool and quiet, and she enjoys watching the stars shine in the night sky. She doesn't come across anything more threatening than a few nightstalkers.

Until she gets to Nipton.

A man half-crazed runs up to her, suddenly pulling her into a hug. Her hand reaches for her gun almost instantly, but he's hugging her so tightly she can barely move.

"Yeah! Who won the lottery? I DID!" he all but shouts into her ear.

"Let go of me," she warns, but he doesn't listen.

"Smell that air! Couldn't ya just drink it like booze?" She struggles, kicking his knee out from under him. He crumbles, letting go of her but his pleased mood isn't affected any. She pulls her gun out on him, and he continues to smile blissfully at her.

"Are you feeling all right?" she asks carefully. He snorts.

"Are you kidding me? I've never felt better!" She looks at him closely as he stands up. He didn't smell like booze, his pupils weren't dilated nor was his skin flushed. He didn't seem to be showing any signs of chem use. Thinking back to the lottery ticket she'd found at the rest stop, she asks,

"What sort of lottery did you win?"

"What lottery? The lottery, that's what lottery. Are you stupid? Only lottery that matters! Oh God," he says, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. "Smell that air!" She lets him run past her, the NCRCF emblem on his back fading into the distance. She makes her way through the smoke into Nipton, and understands why the man had been obsessed with the air.

The air in Nipton is saturated with the smell of burnt flesh, and she gags. She stumbles into a building to escape from it, coughing and trying not to throw up. She looks up to see a man with broken and mangled legs glaring at her from his seat.

"Well, if it isn't my lucky day. Here waltzes in the Powder Ganger's grim fucking reaper. The fuck you got against us, man?" he demands angrily. Taken aback, Lola answers,

"You tried to kill some friends of mine."

"Big fucking whoop!" he cries, throwing his hands up in the air. She looks at his legs, and asks, horrified,

"What the hell happened to you?"

"You're looking at the second place winner of the goddamn Nipton lottery. That asshole Swanick got first, so they let him keep his legs," he says bitterly. She walks over to him and kneels down, rummaging through her pack for a doctor's bag.

"Tell me about the lottery," she says, gingerly cutting the blood-soaked fabric that clings to his ruined flesh.

"It ain't like we came to Nipton to play it! Me and my crew had it worked out to kidnap some NCR troopers who had come to town get laid. Had it all worked out with the scumbag mayor. We were gonna ransom them off, keep their weapons for ourselves, It was a nice score." At her pursed lips, he sneers, "You don't approve?" She says nothing, instead continuing to work on his legs, and motioning for him to continue. "We get into position, and the next thing we know we're surrounded by those fucking Legion freaks. They dragged us and everybody else out into the center of town. And that asshole with the dog on his head starts talking about how we're bad people! He said we needed to be punished for what we did. Not all of us, but some of us. And then he gives everyone a fucking lottery ticket," he trails off, looking down at his legs bitterly.

"What happened after everyone got their lottery tickets?" she asks, shaking her head. His legs are too far gone. The best she can do is disinfect and bandage them, so she begins to do so. He yelps and swears when the rubbing alcohol touches his skin, but continues to speak.

"What do you think? He started drawing tickets, and that's how people got punished. First up were the 'lucky losers'. They got decapitated. Guess they were lucky because their deaths were quick. Then came the crucifixions. But, _goddamn_ did those go on and on." She winces at the callousness of his voice, and he smirks. "Third-place runner ups got enslaved, they beat the fuck outta my legs, and that asshole Swanick they let go free."

"And the mayor?" she asks, placing her medical equipment back in her bag.

"Oh him?" he says, sounding disinterested. "When his ticket came up, they burned him on a pile of tires." She winces, and stands up.

"I can spare some Med-X for the pain," she offers. He snorts again.

"Well, aren't you a fucking saint. How much?"

"Five doses," she says, fumbling with the medicine to give to him. She just wants to get the hell out of there.

"Five? Nice. A man could put himself outta his misery with five doses," he says, a frightening look in his eyes. She can't make it to the door fast enough. Before she leaves, she says,

"I'll send help for you." He waves her away, sticking a dose of Med-X in his arm, and she stumbles outside. She turns to leave, but remembers Ghost's words about where any survivors might be. With a heavy heart, she turns the corner to see hell on earth.

Men hang crucified on old, disused telephone poles. Body parts litter the main street, and the fire continues to burn everything in sight. And, Oh God, but the _smell. _She fights the urge to cover her nose and flee, instead moving to the closest crucified man.

"I'm going to get you down," she says. He groans in response, his head lolling to the side. She pulls the combat knife out of her boot, and cuts him down. She reopens her doctor's bag, and begins to try and tend to his wounds. He coughs, blood sputtering over her clothes, and convulsed before dying.

The same happens to the second and third man she cuts down. With a grim determination, she begins to put the poor souls out of their misery. She shoots the last one before hearing thundering footsteps come toward her. She takes a step back and sees an army surrounding her. The men are dressed in crimson and leather, identical self-satisfied smirks covering their faces as they survey the death that surrounds them.

"Woman," one of them says, his face scrunched up with distaste at the word. "Come with us." She does a quick headcount, and stops when she reaches twenty, but there are many, many more. Reluctantly, she drops her weapon and lifts her arms up in a gesture of surrender. One of them grabs her shoulder roughly and pulls her forward. She walks with the group to the town hall in the middle of the destruction. A man in a dog hood stands proudly in front of the decrepit building, dead bodies surrounding him like he was a god of death. One of the men pushes her forward, and she falls down on her knees before the man in the dog hood, whom she assumes to be their commander.

She already should have died once. She doesn't want to attempt to die a second time.

He crouches in front of her, an amused look on his face.

"Are you frightened?" he asks, his voice silky and cold.

"Yes," she says quietly, not looking at him. He chuckles lowly, and says,

"There's no need to worry. I won't have you lashed to the cross like the rest of these degenerates. In fact, it's quite useful you happened by. " His hand cups her chin, tugging her face up to look at him. "And then, when you move on? I want you to teach everyone you meet of the lessons you learned here, especially any NCR troopers that you run across." At that, she finds her voice.

"What _lessons _did you teach here?" she demands forcefully. He laughs at her outburst.

"What lessons? That they were weak, and we are strong? This much was known already. But the depths of their moral sickness, their dissolution? Nipton serves as a perfect object lesson."

"These were innocent people."

"Innocent?" he scoffs. "Hardly. Nipton was a wicked place, debased and corrupted. It served all comers so long as they paid. Profligate troops, Powder Ganger, men of the Legion such as myself-they didn't care. It was a town of whores." His breath is hot on her cheek.

"There was no call for what you did here," she says, struggling to pull her face away. His grip tightens, and he looks almost gleeful at the pain his nails cause her.

"No call? They committed the greatest sin of all, my dear-disloyalty. Do you know what happens when legionaries are disloyal?"

"You murder them?" He's so close she can feel him under her skin.

"Some are punished, and the others are made to watch. Now, tell me-will you do as I ask?" His eyes flash, as if daring her to say no.

"I will," she says, wanting to get out of this alive.

"Anything I ask?" She glares at him, and he smiles almost innocently. "Close your eyes." She fights him for a moment, green eyes locked on his blue ones, before finally relenting. "And open your mouth." She shudders, but does as she's told. Something cold and metal enters to rest against her tongue, and for a spilt second she's afraid it's the barrel of a gun. She feels his lips against her ear, and he says,

"This is a coin, as payment for the ferryman. I want you to keep your eyes closed, and not move. And when this is over? I want you to spread the tale of the lesson I taught here, to fill the hearts of the profligate soldiers with fear, and the knowledge that they will not win against us, for we are legion. Will you do that?" She nods, and he hisses out a pleased, "Good" before standing.

She kneels there, listening to their retreating footsteps, and doesn't move until sunrise.

* * *

><p>So, I can't not write creeper!Vulpes to save my life. D: Also, we should meet Boone in a couple of chapters! 3<p> 


	7. No Vacancy

Chapter Seven: No Vacancy

_I've learned that you simply can't control those bad vibes.-_Kenny G

When she does open her eyes, the fires in Nipton are still burning. She shakily pushes herself to her feet, and spits the coin out in her hand. There's a man she doesn't recognize, but assumes him to be Caesar. She wants to drop it, but her fingers clench around it anyway.

She doesn't want to forget anything, even something as unpleasant as this.

She looks at where the man in the dog hood had stood, and an indescribable rage fills her at the thought of him. He toyed with her, made her think she was going to die. She sat there for hours, and she knows he watched her for at least some of them. She felt his eyes on her. His footsteps were the last she heard retreating, and before he left, he patted her on the head like she was some kind of dog.

She is afraid of him, and that fear fills her with fury.

She shudders before moving on back to Mojave Outpost. When she reaches the Outpost, she tiredly makes her way back to Ghost. She's sitting on the roof, and Lola briefly wonders if the sniper had slept at all.

"Bounce has gone out of your step," she comments. "That bad?" Lola opens her mouth, but has trouble forming the words.

"Legion," is all she manages to croak out. But it's enough to get the point across.

"Legion? This far west? That isn't outside the borders-they're moving in. _Shit,"_ Ghost swears, rubbing the back of her neck. "Well, thanks for hoofing it all the way out there anyway, for all the good it did."

"There's a man still alive," she says, her mouth struggling to form the words. "He's in the general store. He-he can't walk." She deliberately leaves out the fact he was a Powder Ganger. He'd be more likely to get help that way. Ghost nods, and says,

"We'll send someone to retrieve him." She motions to a small satchel of caps on the card table in front of her. "There's your payment." Lola nods, and takes the caps. She wanders back down to headquarters to get her hat, and heads back to Primm.

On the way there, she comes across a large group of ants. She casts a weary glance back to the outpost. The ants were too close for Lola's liking. She pulls out some of the explosives she looted off of the convicts back in Primm, and finds a place to take cover over the ants. She lights the dynamite, and pulls the pin on the frag grenades, throwing them down into the group below. The few that escape the explosions she takes out with her gun. Satisfied that the ants won't make their way to the outpost, she continues onward.

When she reaches Primm, exhaustion weighs her down, and she has to stifle a yawn. She hasn't really slept in a couple of days. She wonders if there is any place to sleep. When she makes her way to the Vikki and Vance, she is greeted by an NCR trooper.

"Hey there," he says. "I'm Sergeant McGee. You're too late for the party." She tilts her head questioningly, and he says, "We just got done clearing out the Bison Steve. You did a hella of a lot of damage." She chuckles nervously.

"Sorry." He waves his hand, and says,

"Nash is in his shop if you're looking for him." She thanks him, and heads to the Mojave Express. She knocks on the door, and an exuberant Ruby answers the door.

"Hello, dear!" she exclaims. "You're just in time for dinner." The smoky scent of radscorpion casserole wafts to her nostrils and Lola smiles before stepping inside.

Once Ruby finishes fussing over her, and slapping an over-generous serving of casserole on her plate, she looks over at Johnson.

"Do you know anything about the men who shot me?" she asks. He nods, lighting a cigarette, and offering her one. She takes it, and looks at the busted robot on the far table while smoking it.

"Beagle says they were talking about some sort of chip. Least, that's what I could make out through his gurgling." She grins sheepishly, and he continues, "I reckon that's the chip you were supposed to deliver. They said they were heading for the Strip, which means with the deathclaws roaming around the I-15 they would've gone through Nipton to Novac, and then to the Strip. So maybe you'll catch them along the way." She winces at the mention of Nipton, but otherwise doesn't say anything. He follows her gaze to the robot, and says,

"I got that from a trader while back. I can't make head or tails of it so if you want to give it a go at fixing it, you can have it." She nods and stands, moving over to look at the robot. She can tell it needs some scrap metal to fix, but that's all she can make of it. She sets it gently back on the table. Maybe she can come back for it once she learns more.

She thanks the Nash couple for their hospitality, and heads for the door. Ruby firmly insists that she stay and sleep.

"You look dead on your feet, dear," she scolds. Lola thanks her kindly, and lays her pallet out on the floor. She sleeps soundlessly, and leaves the following night.

* * *

><p>The night is hotter than most others have been, and she tugs at the collar of her armor. She briefly considers shucking out of it and changing into something lighter, but comes across Nipton again. She hurries past the decimated city, and waltzes right into an ambush.<p>

A bullet goes whizzing past her head, and she crouches down behind an ancient, broken down bus. The Jackal gang members are scattered all over the place, and the hardest to reach ones are scurrying along the tops of the hills. She swears, and takes aim the best she can. She can get some of them, but not all of them. One of them sneaks up on her, and tries to bludgeon her with a tire iron. He gets one hit in, and it knocks Lola to the ground. She rolls over in time to see the gang member raise the tire iron for a second hit, a half-mad light shining in his eyes. She takes him out, and pushes herself to her feet. She takes off running, ignoring the blood running down her face, and the ones that roam the hills.

She's fortunate enough to hear the loud partying from the second ambush, and she sneaks past that group. They don't even notice her, and instead continue carousing and shouting. She doesn't rest easily until she can't hear them anymore. She follows a broken stretch of highway to the next settlement, and wonders how long it will take.

She comes across a Ranger Station, and decides to ask. She walks up to a ranger gazing out worriedly toward the horizon. He catches sight of her, and raises an eyebrow.

"This is a Ranger Station. Civilians aren't usually allowed here," he says.

"Sorry. I'm looking for," she pauses as she thinks of the name. "Nova? Noway?"

"Novac?" he asks, giving her a strange look. She blushes, but answers,

"Yes. Novac."

"It's to the north-east of here. Giant dinosaur. Can't miss it."

"Thank you," she says. He nods, and goes back to looking around worriedly. "Is there something I can help you with?" He seems taken aback by her offer, but shakes his head.

"No. I'm just waiting for the recon squad. They're checking the perimeter. They should have been back by now," he explains. He then mutters underneath his breath, "Lazy bastards."

"I can keep an eye out for them," she says. He nods.

"You do that. Thanks. Have a safe trip to Novac." She waves goodbye, and hits the road, wondering how long it will take to reach Novac.

She doesn't have to wonder for long, however, when she sees a giant green dinosaur looming in the distance. Once she reaches it, she stops in front of it to look, and sees a glint shining from it's mouth. She simply shakes her head.

"Hell of a thing to survive the war," she mutters, waving to whoever is holed up in mouth before moving on.

Boone looks down at the wastelander through his scope. She's wearing leather armor and a fedora, and looks like she could be a caravaaneer if it weren't for the lack of a pack Brahmin. Her hat is slightly skewed, and dried blood is caked to her face. She stops to look the dinosaur up and down before shaking her head. She waves, and he pays her no more attention. He lifts his eyes to the east, where Nelson waits.

Lola enters the hotel, and meets a kindly looking old woman reading at the front desk. She looks up and smiles.

"Well, welcome to you! You look tired from the road. Why don't you relax a spell, and let this fine town take care of you?" Lola nods, and finds herself smiling tiredly back.

"That sounds like a," she pauses, and thinks this would be as good a time as ever to use one of the words she learned from reading. "Like a swell idea, ma'am." The woman's smile brightens.

"I'll give you a good flat rate, and you can stay as long as you'd like. At least, until the busy season comes around," she says, winking. "One hundred caps." Lola pays the caps, and receives a motel key in return. She bites back a smile at the peeling dinosaur decal on the key.

"We haven't met yet," she says, holding out her hand. The woman takes it in a soft, but firm grip.

"Oh, what am I doing? I got so caught up in making a good impression that I plain forgot to tell you my name! I'm Jeannie May. Jeannie May Crawford. I take care of people here, as long as they aren't troublemakers," she says, and the last word has a tinge of disgust laced through it.

"You won't have to worry 'bout me, ma'am. I'm Lola. "

"Wonderful!" The old woman's good cheer is contagious, and Lola can't help but smiling.

"Tell me about this place," she says. "I don't think I've ever been here before."

"We're in a little desert oasis, name of Novac. This is the Dino Dee-lite Motel, and it's mine. There's Dinky, the town mascot. You probably saw him when you came to town, but you can go up inside too."

"Neat," Lola says, genuinely interested. Jeannie May's grin gets a little bigger, and she says,

"Nelson is to the east, but it's been taken over by the Legion." Lola's brow furrows at that. "But we have our two wonderful snipers keeping an eye in that direction, and so far they've left us alone."

"Is there any place to get supplies?"

"You can go to the Dino Bite Gift Shop. Cliff runs it. Tell him I sent you. I'm sure he gets lonely sitting in the belly of that lizard all day," she says. Lola nods, and thanks her before remembering one last thing.

"Have you seen a man in a checkered coat?" she asks. Jeannie May's face scrunches up in loathing.

"He may have been wearing a fancy coat, but he wasn't any kind of gentleman to me. Had his nose stuck up so high in the air you couldn't see it past the clouds. City folk," she sniffs. There it is again, that disgust from earlier. "Think they deserve better than what they got. Those hoodlums he was friends with seem to know Manny. He's our daytime sniper, up in the dinosaur's mouth."

"Thank you kindly," Lola says, and exits the lobby. She sees a familiar securitron leaning by the fence. He lifts up one mechanical arm to wave at her.

"Victor!" she cries, running over to him. She stops short of hugging him, instead opting for patting his arm.

"Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit! If it ain't my old friend from Goodsprings," he says almost fondly.

"What are you doing here?"

"Don't rightly know. I got the urge to make my way to New Vegas. I reckon I'll find out when I get there." The thought that he might be following her passes through her mind, but she dismisses it immediately. There's no reason to be so distrusting.

"It's good to see a friendly face," she finally decides on saying instead.

"Likewise, friend. Likewise. Is there anything ol' Vic can do for you?" She shakes her head.

"Nope. I'm going to get some supplies, and ask around about the men who shot me. Prob-probably get some sleep."

"You just be careful while looking around. Novac is a nice enough town, but just between you and me, my skin started to itch when I rolled in. I'd hate for anything to happen to a sweet thing like you," he warns. She laughs.

"Sweet is deplorable-_debatable_- but thank you. You take care of yourself too, Victor."

"Sure thing, hon," he says, and he pivots to see the horizon, where the sun had risen. "Good night. Or, is it good morning?" He turns to get her confirmation, but she is already gone.

* * *

><p>She enters the Dino Bite Gift Shop, and an older man with a balding head looks up hopefully at her.<p>

"Welcome to the Dino Bite Gift Shop! If you're looking for T-Rex figurines, you're just in luck! We happen to have a few left."

"Jeanne May sent me," she says, and a blissful smile breaks over his face.

"Bless her. Seems like every traveler I get in here says the same thing. They see the sign and think, Gift Shop? Must be too good to be true. But Jeanne May always points them back in my direction. Well, a friend of Jeannie's is a friend of mine. And my friends get a discount at my store," he says, winking. She blushes.

"You don't have to do that, sir," she says, and he laughs.

"Oh Lord. My father was sir, little missy. You just call me Cliff."

"All right, Cliff. What do you sell at this swell gift shop?"

"Well, there's the T-Rex figurines, of course. That's our bread and butter. We also have an assortment of REPCONN factory souvenirs-rockets, things of that nature," he says excitedly.

"That all sounds wonderful, but what about sup-food? And guns? Do you sell those?" She feels bad about the dejected look that falls over his face.

"Guns? Well, yeah. I guess I might have a few." Under his breath, he mutters, "Darn it. No one ever buys the T-Rexes." She bites back a smile, and says,

"A box of Instamash, some 9mm ammo, and a T-Rex figurine." He perks up, and gathers the items she wants.

"32 caps," he says, depositing the T-Rex figurine in her hand first. She pays him, and looks up to the stairs that lead up to the dinosaur's mouth. The sun had come up while she was talking to Jeannie May.

"Is Manny up there now?" she asks. Cliff shakes his head.

"Nope. He gets here at 9 AM. Boone's our nighttime sniper, and his shift isn't over yet," he explains.

"Huh. I'm looking for a man in a fancy cape-_coat. _I was told Manny knew his friends. Do you think Boone knows anything?" she asks.

"Wouldn't hurt to ask. But Boone hasn't really talked much since-" Cliff shakes himself, as if remembering he is talking to a stranger. "Well. Boone just doesn't talk very much." She notices the way he falters, but doesn't comment on it.

"Thanks for the T-Rex," she says, gathering her purchases and walking up the steps. She hesitates at the door for a moment.

_Into the mouth of the beast, _she thinks, and walks inside.


	8. No Happy Endings

Chapter Eight: No Happy Endings

_There is no lonelier man in death, except the suicide, than that man who has lived many years with a good wife and then outlived her. If two people love each other there can be no happy end to it._- Ernest Hemingway

The door creaks open, and Boone swings the butt of his rifle around. He's slightly impressed that the woman doesn't flinch even as it slams into the wall beside her head. The only reaction she shows is clutching the T-Rex in her palm.

"God damn it," he swears, lowering his rifle. "Don't sneak up on me like that! What do you want?"

"Sorry," she says, but it sounds strange to him. "You expecting visitors?"

"Yeah. Maybe I am. But not like you." He looks her up and down, noting the way she ignores the blood staining her face, the 9mm holstered on her hip, and the hilt of a combat knife sticking out of her boot. "Huh. Maybe it was you I should have been expecting all along. Why are you here?" She tilts her head.

"If you're looking for someone in particular," she says slowly. "I could tip you off if I see them."

"Yeah, well. If you see anyone wearing Legion crimson, or a lot of sports equipment, you just let me know. You still haven't answered my question," he says, getting annoyed.

"I just wanted to check out the view."

"There's nothing up here."

"Fine. I'm looking for a man in a checkered suit."

"Haven't seen him. I think you should leave," he says, jerking his hand toward the door.

"You treat everyone around here like this?" she asks calmly. He opens his mouth to protest, but stops.

"Wait. You wandered into town recently, right?" he says, looking her up and down again. She gets the feeling he's sizing her up for something. "Maybe you shouldn't go. Not just yet."

"Why is that? Do you need help with something?" They way she moves her mouth is strange, like she doesn't know quite how to speak. Boone catches a glimpse of a scar snaking from her temple to her cheek.

"I need someone I can trust. You're a stranger. That's a start," he says. She tilts her head.

"You only trust strangers?" she asks. "Why? Everyone here seems so nice." He loses his temper, and snaps at her,

"I said it was a start!" A long, tense moment passes between them, and he thinks she is going to turn around and leave.

"Sorry," she says quietly. "I'm God-awful at this being social thing." He chuckles mirthlessly.

"You and me both. You wanna hear what I have to say?"

"By all means," she answers, and he releases the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He thought she was going to say no.

"This town. Nobody looks me straight in the eye anymore. I need you to find something out for me. I don't know if there's anything to find, but I need someone to try. My wife," he says, and swallows the lump that forms in his throat. "My wife was taken by Legion slavers one night while I was on watch." She stiffens just a bit, and her hand unconsciously brushes her pocket. "They knew which route to take so I wouldn't see them, and they only took Carla. Someone set it up. I don't know who."

"You're trying to track down your wife?" she asks quietly, and he pushes down that old, familiar pain that wells up in his chest.

"My wife is dead," he says with more force than he expected to. "I want the sorry son of a bitch who sold her." She nods, and doesn't ask anything more about his wife.

He's oddly grateful.

"So, what do you want me to attempt of if I find this person?" she asks.

"What?" he asks, not quite understanding her word choice. She winces, and rephrases.

"What do you want me to do if I find this person?"

"Bring him out in front of the nest while I'm on duty. I work nights," he explains. He pulls his beret off of his head, ignoring how exposed he feels without it. "I'll give you my First Recon beret to put on. It'll be out signal that you're standing with him. I'll take care of the rest. I. I need to do this myself," he says, reluctantly explaining himself to this stranger. She gingerly takes the beret, sensing it's importance.

"I'll do everything I can to help you out," she says. He nods, seemingly satisfied.

"Good. I'll make it worth your while. One more thing. We shouldn't speak again. Not until this is over. No one in town knows I know what happened to my wife," he says. "Best they never know. Or the Legion will be coming after me next."

"Got it," she says, yawning widely. She is exhausted, but she won't sleep yet. Not until she makes some headway on this. Boone reaches down beside his seat, and picks up a Nuka Cola standing among the various chems. Self-consciously, he kicks the chems underneath his seat.

"Here. Saw you walking. Must be tired," he says. She smiles, and accepts the soda. If she notices the chems, she chooses not to comment.

Just one more thing to be grateful for.

The door opens, and Manny enters. He stiffens when his eyes land on the woman. Dark circles hang under his eyes, and Boone feels a little guilty. But he pushes that down, and hardens his resolve. If Manny had anything to do with Carla's disappearance, he won't hesitate to shoot him.

He hopes that it doesn't come to that.

"Who the hell are you?" Manny demands. Boone opens his mouth to answer, and realizes he never got the woman's name.

"Lola Haze," she answers, eyeing Manny's beret. "You must be Manny." He stiffens further, and shoots a glance over at Boone. Boone ignores him, gathering his things.

"Yeah? What of it?" he asks. Boone shakes his head before moving to the door. He pauses after he opens it, and nods to Lola.

"Don't forget what I told you," he says. She nods back, sticking his beret in her front pocket.

"Understood." He leaves. Manny turns on her.

"What do you want?" he demands. "What were you talking about with Boone? Why do you have his beret?" She shakes her head.

"That's the second time I've been asked what I wanted. You First Recon fellas really know how to make a gal feel welcome," she answers, popping the cap on the Nuka Cola Boone gave her. Manny glowers at her as she takes her first sip. "Relax. I'm looking for a man in a checkered suit. Do you know him?" His eyes narrow.

"Sure I know him. What do you want with him?" She doesn't say anything, instead motioning to the scar on her face. Manny winces, and she can tell he knows exactly what it's from. "Pretty important to be chasing a guy like that. I can help you," he says, and pauses a beat. "But I have problems of my own." She smiles, and hopes it doesn't look too ghoulish.

"Doesn't everyone?"

"Novac, it's home for me now," he says, and her heart aches at the thought of having a home. "I want that to be for good. I like it here, and I've left too many homes behind. But the only resource we have to trade is junk. Without that, everyone would leave and Novac would become a wasteland ghost town."

"Whose threatening you?" she asks.

"We get most of our junk from the REPCONN Test Site, but one day a bunch of ghouls took over, and now we can't get in. I need you to clear them out," he says, the edge of his voice softening. She shakes her head, thinking about what she did to the last person who tried to bargain with her for information.

"I'll do it. But no tricks? You'll tale-_tell-_me what I want to know?" He nods, seemingly relieved.

"Yeah. Sorry about earlier," he says, his fingers moving up to massage the bridge of his nose. "Boone and I aren't on the best of terms."

"It wouldn't have anything to do with his wife's disappearance, would it?" she asks. He levels another suspicious look at her. She stares back at him, trying to discern if he knows anything.

"Believe me," he starts slowly, as if picking his words carefully. "When I heard the news, my first thought was that I owe somebody. Big. I figured Boone would come around after a while. But he hasn't, and I'm starting to think that if he doesn't find her, things'll never go back to the way they were." He sounds almost mournful.

"You were close, huh?" she says. He nods.

"He was my best friend. We spotted together in First Recon."

"Who would want to hurt Boone's wife?" she asks. He takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly.

"Man, everyone. That girl didn't have one friend in the whole town. She didn't want any. She just wanted to sit in her room all day and make herself miserable. And she went out of her way to be rude. She upset a lot of people," he says, looking Lola up and down. "She wouldn't have liked you. You wouldn't have liked her either."

Lola nods, and thanks him for his time before leaving the dinosaur. She walks down the steps to see Cliff Briscoe straightening up in his supply closet. Her Geiger counter begins to tick the closer she gets to the room full of rockets.

"-Cliff? Can I ask you about Boone's wife?" He sighs, and stands up.

"I didn't really talk to her. Boone did most of their shopping. The few times she was in here, she had her nose scrunched up like something smelled bad. Shop smelled fine, as far as I can remember," he says. She nods.

"Is that it?" she questions. He nods, and she notices the gun lying on the shelf. She gestures to it. "Can I?" The smile comes back to his face.

"Sure thing!" he says, handing it to her. It's weird looking, like something she read in a book she can barely remember. Something about electric sheep? It feels natural in her hand. She tilts her head to look down the sights. "How much?"

"500 caps," he says, and she hisses sharply.

"That's pretty steep. You sure you still like me?" He laughs, and says,

"I can't let it go for any less. Sorry." She shakes her head. She has enough, with all of the scavenging she's been doing.

"Understood. I'll take it." She pays him, and places the new gun reverently in her pack. She says goodbye to Cliff Briscoe. Lola downs the rest of her Nuka Cola on her way out of the dinosaur. The caffeine puts the spring back in her step, but she knows it's only a temporary effect. She should get as much work done as she can before she is fatigued again. She decides to talk with Jeannie May next. She's been more than friendly. When she walks in, Jeannie May looks up from her reading with a smile.

"Back again so soon, dear? Have you rested at all?" she asks kindly.

"Not tired yet," she says, and for the moment, it is true. She tests the waters. "What's wrong with Boone?" Jeannie's face furrows into an expression of pity.

"Oh, nothing that wouldn't be wrong with a man who loses a wife. Poor dear," she tsks. "Now, I know he thinks she was kidnapped, but I'm not too sure she didn't just take off. She was always trying to get him to go back to New Vegas with her. I think she just got tired of waiting. You could tell she was thinking about it every since they arrived." _Hmm, _she thinks. _Sounds like everyone knows what Boone thinks happened._

"What was she like?" Lola asks despite herself. Jeannie May's face scrunches up again, the same way it did when she spoke about the man in the checkered suit.

"How should I put it? I guess you could say she was a bit like a cactus flower-real pretty to look at, but there was no getting close to her. She preferred the big lights and fast living of New Vegas." Lola nods. She thanks Jeannie May, and leaves. She lights a cigarette, and closes her eyes. There had to be something else. She walks up to one of one of the settlers milling around the front of the hotel.

"Which room is Manny's?" she asks. They wave her to the door, and she walks over, waiting until everyone is out of sight. She crouches down, and picks the lock, opening the door with a near silent click. The room is in disarray, the mattress stripped bare, and a glowing computer terminal in the corner. She makes a face. She hopes she doesn't have to hack it. She isn't sure she knows how to get past anything but the most simple of defenses. Much to her relief, the terminal is unlocked, and she looks for anything concerning Boone's wife. She doesn't find anything about her, but what she finds instead gives her pause.

It's information concerning the man in the checkered suit, whom she finally has a name for: Benny. He and his Great Khan friends had a falling out, and the Khans are headed to Boulder City.

She can just leave right now, no strings attached, and leave Novac behind. Leave behind Manny with his forlorn face and sad voice, and leave behind Boone with his wrinkles that each hide a separate sorrow. She guiltily touches the beret tucked in the front pocket of her armor. She had a life once. Maybe if she catches up with the people who took it from her, she can get it back. She makes up her mind.

She'll tell Boone she has other matters to attend to, and he'll have to find his wife's betrayer himself.

She puts her cigarette out in Manny's ashtray, and stealthily exits his room, knocking on the door on the room next to his. When no one answers, she moves on to the next one. Boone blearily answers his door, shirtless and with a bottle of scotch in his hand. When he sees her, he grabs her by the collar and pulls her inside. The slamming of the door echoes throughout her ears. She tries not to focus on the blood that stains the carpet, or the broken glass that litters the floor in front of the bathroom.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demands. "I thought I told you we couldn't talk until this ended." Dark circles hang under his eyes like the dark stains that mar the pages of an old book. She hadn't noticed the stubble that covers his jaw while they had been speaking in the mouth of the dinosaur. Ribs poke out of the sides of what was once a well-muscled torso.

He is a man who lost his wife, and is slowly on the way to losing himself.

"I-" _I can't help you find your wife. I'm sorry. _"I'm close to finding out who sold your wife."

"Was it Manny?" he asks, his breath tinged with desperation.

"No," she says with absolute certainty. "He's your friend. He wouldn't do that to you." He nods, and motions to the door.

"I'll leave you alone," she says, and exits, closing the door behind her. She breathes, steeling herself and her resolve. She'll find whomever sold Boone's wife, and bring them to justice.

Tonight.


	9. One More for the Road

Chapter Nine: One More for the Road

_But this torch that I found  
>Its gotta be drowned<br>Or it soon might explode  
>So make it one for my baby<br>And one more for the road_

One for my Baby- Johnny Mercer

Lola walks around Novac, asking anyone she can find about Carla Boone. Most avoid her eyes, but the ones who do answer her say what she has already heard. That Carla wasn't too friendly, or that they figured she'd gone back to New Vegas, and no one had the heart to tell Boone. A lone figure in a Ranger hat limps up to her as she lights another cigarette to keep from trying to beat information out of people out of sheer frustration.

"Pardon me, ma'am, but I hear you're asking about Carla?" he says. She nods wearily, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

"Yes sir. Do you have any information?" He shakes his head, and says,

"I wanted to let you know that you're not alone in looking for her. I told the rangers up at Charlie to keep an eye out for her," he says, shaking his head. "But there's just too much ground to cover. I don't think Boone will ever be the same as he was."

"Tell me about them. About Boone and Carla," she says, knowing it isn't any of her business. He motions for her to follow him to his bungalow. She does, and soon they're sitting down sharing a couple of sodas.

"Carla was a knock-out," he begins. "Whenever Boone walked around with her, he had this funny grin on his face like he couldn't believe his luck. I know we couldn't. But that wasn't the only reason she stuck out. That girl never minced words." Lola winces, and motions for him to continue. "If she had better food or hospitality, she'd let you hear it. Trouble was, she usually had." He shakes his head, and takes a sip of his drink. "I don't think she meant it. She really was a sweet girl. I think she just wanted to remind herself that there are nicer places in this world than Novac. Who could blame her for that?" Lola nods, and feels her chest tighten. Carla was probably just a girl who had run off with the man she had loved, and didn't expect to miss the bright, flashing lights of the city so much.

God, but did she ever hope Boone was wrong about her being dead. Neither one of them deserved this.

"So, what do you do here, sir?" she asks in an effort to distract herself from those sad thoughts. He smiles wryly.

"Right now? A whole lotta sitting on my keister and counting cracks in the ceiling. I wouldn't wish it on anybody. On better days, I help keep the peace. Boone and Vargas watch the road, and I watch the town. Tell myself that I'm doing some good," he says, flexing his stiff arm. "I like to pretend I'm still a Ranger, though. I'll check up on Charlie pretty regular on the ham radio. They haven't been responding these past couple of days, so I think they must be getting pretty sick of me." He tries to laugh, but it just sounds hollow to her ears.

"Who is pretending?" she says gently.

"You're real sweet for saying that," he says. He shakes his head. "A few years back, we got a tip that some Legion slavers where holed up in this burnt out house a few clicks from where we were stationed. We get there, and it's deserted. I mean, no sign of anybody. As we were leaving, I hear someone behind me. I," he pauses, his voice getting tight. "I turn around, and there's this kid, just skin and bone, and looking up at us like he's scared to death. Was hiding in a closet. I go to grab him out of there, and I notice he's holding something in his hand. Something metal. He shuts himself back in the closet, and that's when I saw the grenade he'd left at my feet." He gestures to his leg, and doesn't say anything more about how it happened. "I fell on my way out of Dinky a few weeks ago, and I'm just now recovering. Some ranger," he says bitterly.

"You're kidding yourself if you think you're useless," she says, and he gives her a strange look. "It's your body that's damaged, not your head-_mind." _

"Heh. You're something else, kid," he says, smiling. "Hope I helped you." She nods.

"You did, sir."

"Name's Andy." She stands up, moving to leave, but his voice stops her. "Hey. Since you do a little more traveling than I do, could you check up on Charlie for me? I know they can take care of themselves, but it'd do me some good." She smiles, and nods.

"Sure thing." She exits, and notices the sun starting to go down. She sighs. Maybe she can get in a couple of hours of sleep before the night is over. Lola heads to the motel room she'd rented, not really paying attention to anything, or anyone, in her path. She runs into someone, their bony shoulder lodging in her ribcage.

"Who sent you?" he demands, a wild look in his eyes. "I ain't talkin'! They tried to get me to talk, but I didn't say nothin'! And I don't plan on now, by gum!"

"It's all right," she says, not really in the mood for this. "I'm not going to hurt you. I wasn't sent."

"We'll just see about that. You come any closer, and I'm liable to stick you with my stickin' knife. Ol' Sticky has been feelin' mighty ornery," he says, hand on his waist. She dutifully takes a step back, and hears the settlers that remain outside whispering about them.

"There goes crazy No-bark Noonan again," one of them says. Well, hell. She might as well give it a shot.

"Has anything strange been happening around here?" she asks. He puts his hand up to his ear.

"What?" She repeats herself, and he nods knowingly.

"I don't trust anyone that doesn't have anything strange about him. If a man wears his pants on his head, and talks backwards from time to time, it's all laid out for you. But if he's friendly to strangers, and keeps his home spic-and-span, more than likely he's done something his own ma couldn't forgive." She sighs, blowing her hair out of her face. This is a waste of time. She moves to leave, but stops when No-bark continues to speak.

"Yer lookin' for the pretty woman, ain't ya? The soldier's wife. Well, I've seen it all. Seen shadowy folk come to his room, and leave again in the middle of the night. Thought I saw one go into the lobby too, for a spell. Could be that person went in to get something. Or use the john. Mighty interestin' either way, if you ask me," he says. She turns back to look at him.

"Who?" is all she can say.

"I thought it was cannibals, come to eat us all. But now I know better. It was molerat men, stealing our women-folk for their long, beautiful hair on account of them being bald. They lured them away with promises of mud mansions, and the latest designer appliances. That's why they took the pretty woman. She had nice hair," he explains eagerly. She casts an eye over to the door of the Dino Dee-lite lobby, where Jeannie May is locking up for the night. She nods, leaving No-bark to his rambling, and waits for everyone to clear out for the night.

She waits in the shadows between the motel and the lobby, and watches as Manny gets off of his shift, and Boone starts his. They don't speak to each other, and instead leave the other behind in silence. Boone catches her eye, and she's slightly impressed that he can spot her. He makes no motion to move toward her, instead pointing to his head where his missing beret would be. She nods, and he walks into the dinosaur.

She sneaks out, and picks the lock to the lobby. It comes open with ease, and she gently shuts the door behind her. She looks around. The lobby looks normal, clean except for the few coffee mugs and dinosaur figurines that litter the counter. She spots a floor safe she didn't notice before, and moves to open it.

What she finds inside makes her blood turn to ice.

She reads the Bill of Sale, and her hands start to shake at the words _unborn child. _Christ. He never told her Carla was pregnant. She takes a long, deep breath to steady herself. She takes the caps in the safe, and reflects that she should probably feel bad for doing so.

However, dead women don't need money.

She stands, kicking the safe closed with a forceful click, and leaves the lobby. She walks down the dusty road to Jeannie May's house, going over the signs of guilt in her mind. Jeannie May hid her crime well, and Lola feels ashamed she didn't notice anything off about the woman before. It should have been obvious. The way she spoke about city folk, about Carla.

She knocks on the door, and a tired Jeannie May answers the door.

"What is it, darlin'?" she asks. "It's awful late to be expecting visitors."

"Jeannie," she says in a small voice. "There's someone here to talk to you."

"Who is it, dear?"

"A m-man. Calls himself Crassus," she says, and Jeannie May's eyes widen just a fraction. "I don't know what he wants." Lola can't keep the rage she feels from causing her voice to shake, but it seems to convince Jeannie May that she's afraid.

"Where is he?" she asks, putting on her glasses.

"In front of the dinosaur." Jeannie May all but takes off running, and it's all Lola can do to keep up with her. They sprint down the road, the old woman's heaving breathing echoing in Lola's ears like a funeral dirge. They stop in front of the dinosaur, Lola standing behind Jeannie May. She looks around, bewildered, and Lola slowly puts on Boone's beret, signing the old woman's death warrant.

"Where is he-" she begins to ask, her voice freezing when she sees the beret on Lola's head. "Oh no. Oh, God no-"

Her head explodes, and Lola barely avoids being sprayed with blood. She sighs, looking down at the body and lighting another cigarette. She looks up at the dinosaur, and gives a small nod before heading up there to talk to Boone.

The walk to the dinosaur's mouth takes forever. When she does finally make it, her cigarette is nothing but ash. Boone's back is to her, shoulders tense and white hands still gripping his rifle. He turns to talk to her, his face locked in a stony expression.

"That's it then," he says tensely, hands still on his gun. "How'd you know?" She wordlessly hands him the bill of sale, and watches his eyes harden as he reads it. He crumples it in his hand when he's finished, and throws it aside.

"It'd be like them to keep paperwork," he says, finally lowering his rifle. He pulls out a satchel of caps. "Here. This is all I can give. Our dealings are done here." She doesn't move to take the money.

"What will you do now?" she whispers. He shakes his head.

"I don't know. I won't be staying here, that's for sure. I don't see any point in doing anything except hunting Legionaries." He chuckles lowly. "Maybe I'll wander, like you."

"Come with me," she says, and the request shocks the both of them. Boone's face contorts in a grimace, and he says,

"No. You don't want to do that."

"We'll kill more with two of us," she offers. He gives her a hard look, and says,

"You're right. That's reason enough for me to take you up on your offer. But this isn't going to end well."

She doesn't ask who it wouldn't end well for, and he doesn't answer.

* * *

><p>They leave Novac, and she casts a guilty look in the direction of the REPCONN test site. She'll come back and help later. A few more days wouldn't hurt Novac, but there's no telling if the Khans have already left Boulder City. They make good time, and don't say a word to each other. That suits Boone just fine.<p>

They stop to rest for a bit underneath a large Sunset Sarsaparilla billboard before traveling on. A man with a guitar is already there, quietly humming along to the chords he strokes out.

"Hey there, little lady," he says by way of greeting. She smiles, and answers,

"Hey, stranger. Would you pow-_play_ us a tune?"

"Sure as lack of rain, I would," he says with a grin, and begins to play. Boone isn't tired, but he leans against the billboard to watch his new companion. She sways to the music, mouthing along to the words softly. She looks surprised that she knows them. Around the middle of the song, the man's deep voice croons,

"_When I was just a baby, my momma told me, Son_

_ Always be a good boy, don't ever play with guns._

_ I shot a man in New Reno, just to watch him die_

_ When I hear that whistle blowin', I hang my head and cry." _

She tenses the mention of shooting a man, and her gaze moves down to stare long and hard at her pistol. She doesn't sing along anymore after that.

After she sleeps for a couple of hours, she thanks the man and they head on. Boone doesn't ask where they're going. It doesn't matter, but she tells him anyway.

"We're headed to Boulder City," she explains, and he raises an eyebrow, but otherwise says nothing. She wonders about his lack of a response, and sees why when they reach Boulder City.

It's nothing but a blown out ruin that pays homage to the dead. Lola despairs, and wonders if she read the terminal entry on Manny's computer wrong. She isn't as good with words as she would have liked, and maybe she over-looked something. They make their way further in, and meet an NCR lieutenant who stops them.

"We have a situation with some Great Khans," he says, and Lola hopes that these are the men she is looking for. "The brass at McCarran has ordered me to lock down the ruins until it is resolved."

"What kind of situation?" Lola asks.

"Hostage," the lieutenant answers gruffly. "A patrol of ours coming back from Novac came under fire, and radioed for reinforcements. Instead of waiting for us, they chased the Khans into the ruins. No deaths, but not everyone got out."

"These Khans might have something of mine," she says slowly. "A package I was supposed to deliver."

"Once the Khans have been killed or captured, you can get whatever they took from you," he promises. Her brow furrows, and Boone notices the way she brushes her gun. She touches it like it burns her.

"I might be able to," she pauses. "Might be able to talk to them."

"Normally, I'd turn you down since I have no idea who you are, but those hostages are as good as dead when we attack. I'll give you a chance. Their leader is a man named Jessup," he says, moving out of their way. Boone grits his teeth, but follows Lola past the junk door deeper into the ruins. NCR troopers are positioned behind toppled buildings, and the Great Khans leer at them. They aim their guns toward the duo, but Lola raises her hands above her head, so Boone does the same.

"This is a stupid idea," he mutters. "Khans can't be reasoned with."

"I don't want to kill anyone I don't have to," she answers. The Khans take their weapons, and pat them down for hidden ones. One of the men keeps his hands on Lola for longer than necessary, but she doesn't seem as bothered by it as Boone is. They walk inside to see a group of angry looking Khans with a man wearing a bandana in the middle. He pales when he sets eyes on Lola.

"What the hell?" he says, his voice tinged with a mixture of awe and fear. "You're that Courier Benny wasted back in Goodsprings. You're supposed to be dead!"

"I got better," she says amenably, and Boone snorts. One of the Khans glares at him, so he glares back. The man in the bandana, Jessup, runs a shaky hand through his hair.

"And here I thought us Great Khans were tough to kill. So, what happens now?"

"Where's the platinum chip I was supposed to discover-_deliver?"_ Jessup scowls.

"Don't have it. That asshole Benny stole it right before he stabbed us in the back. I bet he's back on the Strip laughing at me," he answers bitterly.

"Well, shit," she says underneath her breath. Louder, she says, "Tell me about Benny."

"He's a Chairman, runs the Tops," he answers, and she files it away for later.

"Let's talk about things between you and the NCR," she says, and everyone in the room tenses.

"What about them?" Jessup growls.

"Let's negotiate," she offers. He scoffs.

"What's there to negotiate? The NCR backs off, we walk out of here, and no one gets hurt."

"Free the hostages, and I'll have the NCR escort you out of their territory," Lola says.

"Are you crazy?" Boone hisses, but she holds up her hand to silence him.

"Trust me," she says quietly back. Jessup shakes his head, and Lola is afraid he is going to say no.

"I can't believe I'm doing this, but all right. The hostages can go." He shoots a menacing look at Boone, eyeing his beret. "The NCR better keep up their end of the bargain, though." Lola nods.

"We're here because they are willing to compromise," she says slowly, carefully forming the words. Jessup reaches in his pocket, and Boone tenses, ready to push Lola out of the way. He holds his hand out, and gives her an engraved lighter.

"Here's a souvenir for you, kid. If you catch up to Benny, shove it up is ass for me, all right? One more thing," he says, still glaring at Boone. "Do yourself a favor, and find some new friends. You're traveling with a fuckin' murderer." Boone tenses, but Lola answers calmly,

"This fucking murderer didn't tie me up and leave me to get shot in the head." She motions for Boone to follow her, and they leave, retrieving their weapons from the guards outside. Boone watches Lola the entire way back to the lieutenant, eyes never straying from the scar on her temple.


	10. Comin' Around The Mountain

Chapter Ten: Comin' Around The Mountain

_A promise is a comfort to a fool. -Proverb_

"How'd you know it would work?" Boone asks, looking at Lola across the campfire. She's carefully cooking the meat she cut off of a couple of geckos Boone had shot. Her hands fumble with it as she turns it, like she's doing it for the first time. The lieutenant at Boulder City told them he had orders to take out the Great Khans when they got out. She'd answered if he'd had any sort of integrity, he would honor the deal she'd brokered. He had.

"Didn't," she answers, flipping the meat over gingerly. "Just went in hopin' it would work." He shakes his head, looking toward the horizon. She finishes cooking, and offers him some. He declines, and she gives him a worried look, but doesn't press him. She fiddles with her Pip-Boy radio to break the silence.

"Hey, here's a station I haven't heard before," she says excitedly, turning it up. The radio jingles out a song about a ranger with a big iron on his hip, and Lola mouths along, tripping over the words every so often. The song ends abruptly, and a loud, screeching voice comes over the radio.

"_You're listening to Radio Free Utobitha, bringing truth to Utobithians twenty-four hours a day! Welcome!"_

"Interesting," Lola says.

"Sounds like a super mutant," Boone grunts. She tilts her head, and continues listening.

"_Also joining us from his locked cell is Raul Tejada, master mechanic, who can be executed at any time! Hello, Raul, or should that be Hola?"_

"She said hola wrong. Didn't she?" Lola mutters. Boone shrugs. The broadcast continues to play, and they listen to the tired voice of the man named Raul. "Sounds like he's been there a while." Boone grunts in response. She looks over at him. "You mind making a detour?"

"I'll follow your lead," he says.

Following her lead ends up with them turning away from Vegas. Boone keeps an eye out for trouble, and Lola consults her Pip-Boy map every once in a while to make sure they're going the right way. They come across a group of Viper gang members, but Boone takes most of them out before Lola even notices them. One of them sneaks up behind Boone, and he swears. Lola yells for him to get down, so he drops to the ground, and watches as she fills his attacker full of holes. She grimly lowers her gun, and holds her hand out for him to take. He takes her hand, and she pulls him up.

"You're a damn good shoot-_shot," _she says. He doesn't say anything, pausing only to watch her scavenge the bodies, and they continue onward. He handles the enemies that are far away, and she takes care of any enemies that get too close. She leads them into a place called Scorpion Gulch, and he eyes her warily, but doesn't complain. She pulls herself up on a large boulder, and holds a hand out for him to take. He doesn't take it, instead pulling himself up. He follows her to the top of a particularly high cliff, and watches as she begins to set up camp. He eyes the scorpions milling around below them.

"You sure this is a good idea?" he asks, watching a bark scorpion try to make its way up to them. She nonchalantly shoots it with her pistol, and continues to make the campfire.

"According to the map on this thing," she says, tapping her Pip-Boy. "This puts us directly behind the making. _Mountain. _There should be a path over," she pauses, as she can't quite decide which direction she means. She motions behind her. "Yonder." She hands him a pair of binoculars, and he looks through them at the direction she pointed to. He can see a worn, jagged path that leads to a leaning chain-link fence. He follows the grey line of the fence to see nightkin milling around in front of a couple of buildings. He inhales sharply as he sees one on a guard tower patrolling with a rocket launcher on its shoulder.

"How're we going to get past _that?" _ he asks, handing her the binoculars and guiding her eyes to the guard post.

"Hell," she says, shooting a look at him. "I have a couple of stealth boys. You willin' to take a chance on Lady Luck?" He takes one final look over at the mountain, and nods curtly. She grins.

"We'll raze some troublesome legion camp to the ground soon. Promise," she says, and he almost cracks a smile.

"I'll hold you to that," he replies gruffly, pulling out his rifle to snipe a distant giant radscorpion.

They head out at dawn, when the sunrise barely begins to crawl across the sky. He takes the stealth boy she offers him, and turns it on. A pleasant tickling sensation runs through his body as the device cloaks him. He can see Lola's silhouette shimmering in front of him. They stalk across the cliffs up to the gate. He sees it shake a little, and hears the tell-tale signs of lock picking. A night-kin rounds the corner, a glazed look in its eyes. It makes its way toward the gate, and both of them freeze. Boone raises his rifle to take it out, looking at its face through his sights. It doesn't make any violent movements. All it does is mutter to itself as it walks away. He hears Lola let out a breath, and continue to pick the lock. The gate slides open with an almost deafening screech, and he feels a hand on his arm.

"Let's go," she murmurs, and they take off running as the nightkin roar and try to find them. He sees a building close to them, and reaches for her. He grabs what he hopes is her, and pulls her toward the door, hoping it's unlocked. It is, and the duo falls in, a jumbled mass of tangled limbs. Lola pushes herself off of him, and flies to the door. She shuts it, and the clicking of the lock echoes throughout the room.

"Boone?" she says quietly. He swallows past his pounding heartbeat.

"Yeah?" She breathes out a sigh of relief, and shuts the Stealth Boy off. He fumbles with his, and it shuts off. He picks himself up off the ground, and Lola moves to one of the terminals in the room.

"This controls the locks on the door," she says, gesturing to the door at the back of the room. "I can't make head or tops of it. I'm willing to bet this is where Tejada is. You any good with computers?" He shakes his head, and she swears quietly. She moves to see if she can force the door open. He checks the other computer terminal in the room, and finds journal entries. He skims them for anything that could be of use, and finds the terminal passcode on the very last entry. He snorts, and Lola looks over at him questioningly.

"Password's 12345678. Guy has a sense of humor," he says. She grins, and types it into the terminal controlling the door. It swings open, and a ghoul in a blue jumpsuit looks up from his workbench.

"Took you long enough," he says gruffly, setting down his tools.

"We're," she pauses, a finger to her lips. "Fashionably late?" He snorts.

"Can I go now?" he says, deadpan. She nods. "Oh well. Guess I'll just walk back to my shack. Alone." Boone raises an eyebrow.

"Si. Adios, tu amigo," she says, grinning.

"You should've said mi, not tu. Also, your accent is terrible." Before Boone can say anything, Lola asks gently,

"Do you want to come with us?" The ghoul looks between them, surprised, before nodding in relief.

"Anything's better than here."

* * *

><p>They manage to make it back to camp, and Raul sits down, muttering about his rotting knees.<p>

"So, boss," he says, and Lola raises an eyebrow. "Who'd you kill to get all of the stealth boys?" Boone notices the way Lola barely tenses, but he notices it all the same.

"Found them while scavenging," she answers.

"You must have some crazy luck," he says easily. "Like that courier I heard about on the radio."

"Something like that. You any good with a gun, Tejada?" The ghoul snorts, his hand patting the revolver on his hip.

"I like to think I still have some skill for an old man," he says, nodding to himself.

"Good."

"So, what's a pretty thing like you doing out in the wasteland with a bullet scar on your head?" Raul asks nonchalantly as Lola starts a fire. She pauses before answering.

"I was making a delivery, and got shot while doing so. Your turn," she answers. The ghoul raises what is left of a ruined eyebrow.

"My turn?"

"What's an old man doing getting captured by Nightkin?" He chuckles, lighting a cigarette. He offers Boone one, and he takes it.

"Old man, huh? I love that respect you have for your elders, boss. It's refreshing. I've been with Tabitha awhile. She conned me into trying to fix her robot, and kept me prisoner when I couldn't. She'd always wish me good night the same way. 'Good night, Raul. Good days work. Sleep well, I'll kill you tomorrow." He shakes his head. "I think she did it just to keep me on my toes. But she can't help the way she is. All nightkin are that way." He shoots a look at her. "It was damned good of you not to kill her." She nods, stroking the fire.

_This isn't what I signed up for, _Boone thinks. _I should just go back to Novac._ But he finds the prospect of waiting the days out in his room with only empty whiskey bottles and a blood-stained carpet for company sufficiently depressing, and it is that prospect that keeps him seated.

"So, what's next, boss?" Raul asks. She begins cooking dinner, scavenged from the wasteland critters that attack every so often.

"REPCONN testing facility," she says finally, turning the meat over in the skillet.

"Thought you'd head straight to Vegas," Boone comments, keeping an eye out toward the dark horizon. He is secretly relieved they won't be heading to Vegas. He doesn't know if his heart could stand to go to the city where he met Carla.

"I promised Manny I'd clear out the feral ghouls at REPCONN," she says after a moment's deliberation. Boone no longer feels a burning rage at the mention of Manny, only a sad and empty feeling of regret. "It was to be in exchange for information about the Khans." He raises an eyebrow, and she says sheepishly, "While I was hoping-_helping_-you, I found what I was looking for too."

"Why go back at all?" he asks.

"I promised," she says simply, and he moves his eyes from the horizon to stare at her.

"You don't look like a woman who keeps promises," comes out of his mouth before he can tink better of it, and she winces.

"Maybe I wasn't," she murmurs. "Maybe I decided to change."

* * *

><p>Princess Bride reference FTW!<p>

I want to apologize to everyone who has been following this story. This has been sitting on my hard-drive for the past forever, and I'd been so busy with school (and Keep Your Composure and Where the Sun is Always Shining) that I forgot it even existed. DX Thanks for your patience, and I'll try not to take so long next time. As always, thanks for reading!


	11. Where The Air is Rarified

Chapter Eleven: Where the Air is Rarified

_Somehow, our devils are not all we thought they'd be when we meet them face to face.- Nelson DeMille._

Lola stares up at night sky, leaning back against a large boulder. Raul snores loudly, sprawled over two of the three available bedrolls. She lazily flips through a book, smoking a cigarette, and looks over at Boone. He leans against a boulder opposite of her, shoulders slumped and his rifle resting against his arm. He's looking down at something clenched in his hand.

"If you want to go to sleep," she says, startling him out of his reverie. "I can stay up and keep watch."

"I'm fine," he says brusquely, stuffing whatever he was looking at into his breast pocket. She nods absently, and he says, almost as a challenge, "What about you?"

"Not sleepy," she says, focusing on the words in front of her. They swim in and out of her vision, and she struggles to catch one. Her head throbs, but she manages to make out a single sentence. _We lived in prefabricated timber cabins amid a Pre-Cambrian world of granite. _"Getting shot in the head musses up one's sleeping-" she trails off, not being able to think of the word, and goes back to reading. Boone tilts his head, not commenting on her speech. He feels he should make conversation, but speaking has never been his strong suit.

God, but he wishes Carla were here. She'd know what to say. _Oh, hello. I'm Carla Boone. What book is that you're reading? Really? How fascinating! You know, I love things from before the Great War! _Or, at least, she would have before he stole her away to Novac, and she shut herself away to long for the flashing lights of Vegas. His heart flops guiltily, and he turns away from Lola to watch radscorpions dart lazily across the dark horizon. He touches his breast pocket absently, and then aims his rifle. One of the radscorpions stops scuttling, causing the others to panic.

"Gonna attract them to us," Lola says. "Or worse."

"There' s nothing out here but radscorpions," he answers.

"Radscorpions and an old man who is trying to get some much needed rest," Raul grumbles. Lola chuckles, turning another page in her book.

"Are we too loud?" Raul rolls over to look up at the sky.

"This old man is used to a certain sort of good night," he muses. "I think it might be because you haven't threatened to kill me." She laughs, and it's a rough sound. Boone's eyes stray to her hands that hold her book, and he counts the calluses he sees there. Calluses that could only form from slinging a gun.

Boone can recognize other killers, and Lola is no exception. He can see it in the fierceness of her gaze, and the way she stiffens at the mention of murder. He wonders what sins she's trying to atone for.

* * *

><p>They rest during the day, and head out the next night. Lola gingerly cuts the poison glands off of the radscorpions they had felled, and puts them away with a smile. She'll give them to Ruby the next time she stops by Primm.<p>

They make it to REPCONN Testing Facility with little duress, but she sighs when she sees the half-hidden corpse of a nightkin among the swarms of feral ghouls.

"That doesn't abide well," she says, motioning to it. Raul makes a face, and Boone remains impassive. They fight their way inside, only to hear a rough voice of a ghoul bark at them through the intercom.

"Hey. You. Over here." Lola looks toward her two companions and shrugs before pushing the button on the intercom.

"Yeah?"

"Head to the big room on the east side of the building, and take the stairs all the way up. And hurry!"

"Who are you?"

"Who I am doesn't matter, smoothskin. Now get your ass in gear!" She nods once to Raul and Boone, and the three of them follow the voice's directions, felling feral ghouls and trying not to trip over nightkin corpses. They make it to a door high up above the floor, and Lola presses the intercom button.

"We're here?" she asks.

"All right. I'm letting you in, smoothskin. But you better watch yourself. I'll sure as hell be watching you," the voice growls, and they hear the click of a door unlocking. They open it to find a scowling, short and smooth-skinned man glaring at them. He smiles when he sees Raul, and holds his hand out. Stunned, and not knowing what else to do, Raul shakes his hand.

"God, but are your friends ugly," he says, cutting a sideways glance toward Boone and Lola. "Jason is waiting for you up stairs." Lola raises an eyebrow at the man, but self-consciously adjusts her hat to hide her scar. The trio follow the man up the stairs, passing by ghouls in brown robes on their way up. Their target, Jason, is a glowing green ghoul in a tattered brown suit.

"Hello, wanderer," he greets. "Pleased to meet you. I am Jason Bright." Raul snorts, and Jason takes it in stride. "I know, I know. How funny is it that my birth-name is Bright, and when I should have died, I became this?" To Lola, he says, "You have a very special purpose here."

"Oh?" she says.

"You were sent by the creator to help exterminate the demons that plague us. The creator sent you to help us cross this seemingly insurmountable obstacle. Will you help us, wanderer?"

"Demons?" she asks. "Sure. Sounds fun."

* * *

><p>Boone and Lola leave Raul with the ghouls, which they learn are called 'The Bright Brotherhood', much to the old ghoul's relief.<p>

"_They sound like nightkin, boss," _ he had said, smiling wryly. "_You're going to need to be sneaky, and my creaking knees would give us away." _

They made their way to basement. Boone grips his rifle. He can't see anything, but he can hear the thundering footsteps as the nightkin lumber through the halls. Lola puts a finger to her lips, and they sneak down the stairs. Lola flattens herself against the wall, and looks around the corner. She looks for the tell-tale glint of a stealth boy, and doesn't see one. She motions for Boone to follow her, and they make their way down the hall.

Boone has never been a fan of what he can't see. His eyes dart around, looking for anything out of place. He can't see anything, but he hears it, and that is what is putting him on edge. He follows Lola, and she looks over her shoulder to smile at him reassuringly.

She sees the air shift behind him, and her legs tense up as she springs into action. She slams into Boone, and they tumble down a small set of stairs. Boone grunts as his back slams against the ground, and Lola is already turned around, gun at the ready as the nightkin's stealth boy powers down. He is wielding a giant sword that would have cleaved Boone in half, and he swung it with such force that the blade is stuck in the floor. He tries to tug it up, grunting, and Lola puts a bullet right above his ear.

Boone sits up, ignoring the way Lola's leg is draped over his waist. She holsters her gun, and looks down at him.

"You ok?" she mouths. He nods, swallowing, and he gently nudges her leg. She moves, and he sits up completely, grabbing his rifle from where it had fallen.

"Let's keep moving," he says, and she nods. They sneak their way further down the hall, and see a flicker of a stealth field in front of them. Lola motions to a door on their right, and they quietly go in.

"Hi, humans," a deep voice rumbles. "Why you come here?" Boone raises his rifle, but Lola grabs the barrel to pull it down.

"He isn't attacking us," she says.

"Does it matter?" he asks. Her eyes crinkle at the corners, and if he didn't know any better, he would say that she looked stricken.

"Of care," she says. "Of _course._" The nightkin's stealth field dissipates, and he is holding a bighorner skull to his chest protectively. He eyes them warily, and Lola smiles.

"We're here on behalf of the ghouls," she says.

"A human who is friend to ghouls?" he asks, tilting his hand. "That is very suspicious. What you think, Antler?" He tilts his head close to skull, as if listening

"Your ghoul friends will have to wait until we have what Antler needs," he says finally.

"And what is that?" she asks. Boone stares at her incredulously.

"Are you trying to bargain with it?" he whispers, eyeing the nightkin nervously.

"We don't always have to go in guns a-blazing," she answers.

"Antler brought us here for a reason. Stealth boys! Hundreds of them, delivered here. They're in the room at the end of the hall," the nightkin says slowly, as if repeating something that as already been said. "Protected by a ghoul. Hard, not squishy like the others." She nods.

"We'll find them," she says. "Tell Antler not to worry." The nightkin smiles, and it is a gruesome sight.

"Be careful for my kin," he warns. "They are not right in the head like I am." She nods, and Boone follows her out.

They gingerly step over the strewn bodies of fallen nightkin-after liberating the corpses of their stealth boys- as they make their way to the far room. Lola opens the door, and Boone hears a gun cocking. He pulls Lola out of the way, and they both aim their guns up at the rafters.

"Come and get it, you big, dumb-wait. You're not one of those things. Who the hell are you?" a ghoul asks, pointing his rifle down at them.

"I'm Haze. He's Boone. Who the hall-_hell-_are you?"

"Harland. Why are you here? This place is a fucking deathtrap."

"That glowing ghoul sent us down here to get rid of the 'demons'," Boone says, to which Harland snorts. "Yeah. I thought it was a bad idea too."

"Let me guess-Jason told you that it was the will of the Creator to you risk your asses instead of him, right? What a load of shit."

"We're just here to get up there," Lola offers. "The nightkins want stealth boys. If they get them, they'll leave." At this, Harland shakes his head.

"Well, you're polite. I'll give you that! If this was just between you and me, I'd do as you ask. But it isn't. I had a friend with me when we came down here. She panicked when those ugly bastards came out of nowheres, and ran the wrong direction, further into the basement. She's probably dead, but I'm not leaving until I know for sure. I'd go, but I've killed enough of those bastards to where I wouldn't last a minute out there." Lola fights the surge of irritation that wells up in her chest. She is sick of being forced to run around. It'd be easier to go in guns blazing, and kill everything in the basement. She considers doing just that, sizing Harland up before devising a plan to take out the nightkin. Her grip tightens on her gun, and she stops.

_No,_ a small voice-dare she say her conscience?- says inside her mind. _No. _She sighs, holstering her pistol.

"Where should we start looking?" she asks, and Boone groans.

"This is a stupid idea," Boone says as they make their way further into the basement. "These things are everywhere." The two had powered up their scavenged stealth boys, and were hoping the nightkin wouldn't notice. Lola makes a face that Boone can't see, but he can see the shimmer of her stealth field as her muscles move.

"They'll be all over us if you don't clam up," she growls.

"Shut up."

"What?"

"It's shut up." She makes a small, frustrated noise.

"This isn't the time!" The round the corner into a large, dark room, and Boone can see several rooms below through the grated floor. Rooms that would be perfect to hold prisoners hostage in.

Lola notices the same thing, her mouth set in a thin line. Silence hangs in the air, and she wonders if the nightkin would leave their prisoners unguarded. Somehow, she doubts it. They move to go down the stairs, and the stealth boy on Lola's wrist sputters and crackles. It has run out of power, and her stealth field flickers before dissipating.

"Shit," she swears. Boone sees a glimmer of movement from behind her.

"Haze, move!" he barks. He can't get to her in time. She looks over her shoulder just in time to see a fierce fire shoot out toward her. She dives out of the way, but not before her armor is set aflame. She rolls on the ground, slapping at the fire with her hands. While she is distracted, the nightkin begins to flicker into focus. Boone aims his rifle at him.

"Come on," he mutters, trying to line up a headshot for a quick kill. "Come on, you bastard."

Lola rips the sleeve off of her armor, tossing the flaming material aside. The leather armor had mostly protected her, but her hands and arms are cracked and blistered. She hisses through her teeth, back against the wall, and the nightkin pulls the trigger on his incinerator again.

The nightkin's stealth field disappears, and Boone mutters,

"Gotcha." He shoots, and the bullet hits the nightkin between the eyes, but not before he shoots his incinerator. Boone drops his rifle to help Lola put the fire out, but doesn't see her anywhere.

"Haze?" he calls unsurely. He hears a strained "Yeah?" in reply. "You ok?"

"Hnnng. Been better. " He looks inside a utility room to see Lola leaning against one of the shelves, bottles of spilled wonderglue at her feet. He inhales sharply as he sees the bright red of her arms and hands, and the way she tries to weakly inject a stimpak in her arm. She can't really close her fingers around it, and it hits the ground. He can make out the expression of pain on her face now that her hat is off, and what dim light there is reflects nastily off of her scar.

"Shit. I can't grip anything. You think you could-" her voice trails off, and he nods. He picks up the stimpak, and gently injects it into her arm. He tries desperately to remember the basic first aid he learned during his infantry training, but all he can come up with is,

"You got any Med-X?" She stiffly nods, and says,

"Gauze too. Can you wrap it?"

"Yeah," he says, reaching for her pack. His fingers brush up against bare skin, where her armor had been burned away. "Just tell me what to do." She instructs him, and he does as he is told, trying not to brush her burns too much. Her head lolls against the shelves after he gives her the Med-X, and he uneasily looks out for more enemies.

He tells himself that he is searching for hostiles to keep from looking at the now ruined armor that clings to her form.

"Haze, can you move?" he asks, standing. Her eyes cut over to him, pupils dilated from the Med-X.

"Y-yeah," she answers shakily. She tries to stand, only to stumble. He catches her, and gently sets her back down.

"I'm going to go find the ghoul's friend," he says. "I'm going to lock the door behind me. Stay here, and try not to get yourself killed." She nods.

"You too, Boone. Be careful. Although, it should be easy for you."

"And why is that?" he asks, and her answer makes him rethink his decision to leave her alone.

"Because there are three of you."

* * *

><p>I meant to mention this before, but I'm utterly shameless when it comes to pop culture references in my writing, partly because I'm an unoriginal hipster. So, if you guys wanna play a game, you can see if you can spot some of the references I use. There's another Lolita reference in this one.:D<p> 


	12. This Old Photograph

Chapter Twelve: This Old Photograph

_G__uilt__,__ thinking that perhaps love and peace isn't enough and you have to go and get shot or something.__-John Lennon__  
><em>

_Pain, _Lola thinks as she rests her head against the worn shelves. God, but everything hurts. The Med-X dulled the pain from both her burns and her head, but she could still feel them every time she moved. She just stares at the door. It's all she can manage, doped up on the Med-X.

She hates this feeling, the heaviness in her bones and the pleasant feeling of floating away. She wants to go to sleep, but knows she can't.

She hears a sharp tap at the door. Trying to keep her vision from swimming, she pulls herself to the door. She cocks her gun as she reaches for the door knob. She hears a soft voice call out,

"Haze, it's me." Her shoulders sag in relief, and she unlocks the door. Boone walks in, grimfaced and pale.

"Find anything?" she asks.

"Yeah. A corpse." She winces, and he bends over to help her up. She feels something slip over her wrist, and sees that it is Boone's stealth boy. She opens her mouth to protest, but he beats her to the punch. "You're injured. You should probably stay out of sight." Her mouth closes, and she nods.

"Thanks," she says. He nods, and turns her stealth boy on. Her stealth field shimmers, and Boone says,

"Let's get back to Harland."

"Did you find my friend?" Harland asks as Boone walks through, and Lola powers down the stealth boy. His voice is weary and hopeless, like he doesn't expect good news.

Boone hates to tell him that he is right to expect the worst.

Harland's face contorts, but his voice manages to stay calm, if with a slight tremble.

"Damn it. I'm going to miss that crooked, yellow smile," he says, running his hand through what little hair he has left. "Thank you anyway. You did your part, so I'll do mine. Come up here and look around if you want. I'm going to make a break for topside." Harland races down the stairs, brushing past Lola on his way by. She can just barely make out the look of unrestrained misery on his face.

It is a look that is painfully familiar, to both Boone and Lola. He knows the reason for the familiarity, but she does not, and wonders if she even wants to know.

She walks, with a little difficulty, up the stairs and sees a large cluster of boxes next to a single, glowing computer terminal. She makes a face as she reaches the terminal, hoping it isn't password protected. She bangs her hip against the table it rests on, stumbling before catching herself on one of the boxes. It falls over, empty. She sits down at the terminal, pulling up a message labeled 'Misplaced Shipment?' The words flitter in and out of her vision, but after a while and a massive headache, she can pin down what they say.

"The stealth boys were here," she says. Boone opens another box, only to find it empty.

"They aren't anymore," he says. She nods.

"They got sent back. Back to RobVo, shit. _RobCo._" He nods to himself, and says,

"You know this means the nightkin might get violent."

"Yeah," she answers sadly.

"I'm willing to take them out if it comes to that. Are you?"

"I," her voice trails off, and she looks down at her pistol bitterly. "Yes." He nods, checking the rounds in his rifle.

"Good. I've got your back." She gives him a weak smile before standing.

"Thank you."

He follows her back to Davidson, and keeps an eye on her as she sways while walking. Her balance isn't very good, and he is afraid she might fall. She manages to keep herself upright, and they walk into the room where the nightkin, and Antler, wait.

"Hi human! Antler sings for stealth boys! Did you find stealth boys?" the mutant greets, the brahim skull clutched to his chest. She winces, and answers,

"No. They aren't here." The nightkin's face contorts in an expression of pure rage.

"Liar!" he roars, slamming his fist on the desk in front of him. Boone raises his rifle, but Lola holds up a hand to halt him.

"Wait," she murmurs.

"The invoice said they were here! Antler read it out loud to me!"

"They were sent here by mistake. They got sent back. Hundreds of years ago."

"But the invoice said they were here," Davidson says again, his voice sounding pitful. "Why can't that be true? What, Antler? But the human could be lying! Wanting to take all the stealth boys for itself!"Boone tenses, ready to attack. Davidson sighs, running a large blue hand over his face. "Oh, Antler. You trust so easily. This is your lucky day, human. Antler believes you."

"Thank you," she says, and whether she is thanking Davidson or Boone, neither could say.

* * *

><p>Jason claps his hands like an excited child as Lola stutters a report to him.<p>

"Truly you were sent to us by the creator! I beg your indulgence, wanderer, but will you help us one final time?" She nods, unable to form words to speak. Pain pounds her body and head, and it is all she can focus on. She can barely make out what Jason is saying. Something about thrust control modules, and rockets? The only thing she hears clearly is a soft, resounding,

"No." She looks toward the direction the objection came from, and sees Boone looking at the ghoul over his sunglasses. His eyes look tired and old.

"What?" Lola finds her voice as Jason does. Boone gently steers Lola away from Jason.

"She's injured. She needs rest. She's so hopped up on Med-X right now that I'm surprised she knows her own name." _I don't know my name, _she thinks helplessly. But that is a battle for a later date, when her mind isn't addled and her body isn't worn.

"I'm _fine," _she says, taking a step away from Boone to prove it. Her feet tangle up in each other, and a strong arm snakes around her waist. "You can't tell me what to do."

"She'll help you when she's better," he amends.

* * *

><p>Raul lets out a low whistle as the trio leaves RECONN Testing Facility.<p>

"That's some kind of luck you have, kid," he says. "Two brushes with nightkin, and you're still alive, if a little worse for wear." Lola forces a tired smile. Boone keeps his eyes ahead, keeping an eye out for danger, and she shoots a strange look at his chin. She's curled up underneath his shoulder, and he is stiff as a board, angling his body to keep as little of it touching her as possible.

"Raul," Lola says, catching the ghoul's attention. "Could you support me? I want Boone to be able to reach his gun in a hurry." Raul gives Boone a look, and teasingly says,

"Sure, boss. Just don't blame me if my knees wear out." She makes a face at him, and Boone shuffles her over to the ghoul, his shoulders sagging in relief.

"Thank you," he murmurs. She nods, and shoos him on ahead, watching his retreating form.

The group makes camp at Novac for the night, and Boone is disappointed to be back so quickly. He watches Raul pull Lola up to her room, and stands in front of the door to his old home. _Old, _he thinks. _Obvious how much I want to forget. _He unlocks the door, and steps in. The blood-stained carpet that he never bothered to clean catches his eye first, as it always does. He'd left it as a constant reminder of the woman he loved, and the way he had failed her.

The room is stifling, and the walls are closing in. Suddenly, he can't breathe. Backing away from the room, from his memories, he lets the door swing shut with a loud slam. He turns his head toward the stairs, and sees the light on in her room. He walks to the door and, hesitating only for a moment, knocks.

Raul answers, and steps aside to let him in. Lola is propped up in bed, her bandages half changed and an empty syringe of Med-X on the nightstand. She smiles warmly and Raul goes back to changing her bandages.

"He's almost as bad as you," she jokes.

"We need to make sure your burns heal correctly, boss," Raul says lightly. "I'd hate to lose you to infection. An interesting girl like you is a sight for sore eyes."

"I don't know if you're kidding or not," she says. "But gracias." She says it like 'grassy-ass' and Raul shakes his head.

"Leave the Spanish to me, boss. Please." She laughs, and Boone feels oddly comforted. She motions to him.

"Have a seat." He sits down on a chair next to her, and she asks, not unkindly,

"Need to stay here?" He swallows before nodding.

"All right, but you get the floor," Raul says. "This old man has called dibs on the couch."

"Fine," Boone says. He doubts he'll get much sleep anyway. Raul finishes changing the bandages, and Lola thanks him. She reaches over her nightstand for a book, and begins to read. Boone watches her as Raul makes himself comfortable on the couch. Her eyes scrunch up as she reads, and she mouths the words.

She can't make sense of any of this. Her head is swimming from pain and Med-X, and the words might as well be meaningless squiggles to her right now. Sighing, she puts down the book and brings her bandaged hands to rub at her temples. Boone gingerly picks up the book, like it would bite him.

"This isn't the same book, is it? The one you were reading earlier?"

"No," she answers, her voice slightly muffled by her forearms. "I have a hard time focusing on them, and don't always pick up the same book." He opens it, and looks down at it with an expression that is as perplexed as she feels. "You can read it if you want. " He nods, and she thinks he is going to put it down. But he surprises her, and his deep, quiet voice slowly begins,

"_On those cloudy days, Robert Neville was never sure when sunset came, and sometimes they were in the streets before he could get back."_

"Huh. I thought you'd be functionally illiterate, hijo," Raul says from the couch. Boone cracks a sardonic grin.

"I like to keep people on their toes." He continues reading, and Lola feels her eyes getting heavy. The last thing she sees is Boone hunched over, slowly reading until she falls asleep. He listens to her breathing even out, and marks the page in the book before setting it down on the nightstand. He stretches his arms above his head and stands, moving toward the door.

"I'm going to smoke a cigarette," he announces to no one in particular, and he winces at the sound of his voice. He's talked more since he met Haze than he had in months, and he'd almost forgotten what he sounded like.

"Trying to go to sleep," Raul murmurs, half drowsy. The ghoul is too large for the couch. His feet hang off of the edge, and one arm is slung over the cushions to dangle just above the floor. He's snoring before Boone makes it out the door.

Boone lights a cigarette and tries to ignore the jitters he has. The sun is crawling over the horizon, and he watches it rise through the thick veneer of smoke that billows around him. The smoke distorts the light, making it seem dimmer than it was.

"Huh," he breathes, enjoying the burning feeling in his lungs for the first time in a while.

* * *

><p>Lola wakes up to see Boone curled up on the floor between the bed and the couch. She feels a little guilty-she hadn't really expected him to take the floor. She drops a pillow next to his head, and throws her blanket over him before lightly stepping over him. He rolls, his head burying in the pillow and his sunglasses leaving indentions around his eyes. His beret sits on his head crookedly, and she reaches down to pluck his sunglasses from his face. He grunts, and shifts, knocking a worn paper from his pocket. She reaches to put it back, and something else falls out of it.<p>

She should turn her eyes away, but finds herself drawn to it. It's a photograph of Boone standing with his arms thrown around a woman in a yellow sundress, bright lights frozen in time behind them. Long, straight black hair cascades down to the middle of her back, and her skin is a soft, glowing golden-brown. She's leaning against Boone, a smile over her face as she pays the camera no mind in favor of staring up Boone's face. Lola's throat tightens as she thinks of the only person this could be.

She tucks the photo back inside the slip of paper, and slips it back in Boone's pocket. She quietly moves away and leaves the motel room.

Some things were best left alone, and she knew when to fold them. But now that she had a description to go by, it wouldn't hurt to ask around the Mojave for tips about where to find Carla. Maybe Boone was wrong, and she was still alive. It'd be good to reunite them. Maybe it'd relieve some of this God-awful guilt she couldn't name.

* * *

><p><em>I Am Legend<em> reference FTW!

This is kind of a filler chapter, sorry. D: We'll pick up on finishing Come Fly with Me, and head on out to the 188 to pick up Veronica. I'm hoping to reach the Strip in a few chapters. We'll see how it goes!


	13. Something Borrowed

Chapter Thirteen: Something Borrowed

_No memory of having starred atones for later disregard/or keeps the end from being hard-_Provide, Provide by Robert Frost

Cliff Briscoe looks like a man condemned. His eyes are dull and listless, and all of the cheer has bled out of his voice. He manages a tired smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes when Lola walks in.

"Hi, little lady," he says softly.

"Are you all right?" spills from her mouth before she can stop it, one bandaged hand reaching over to touch his shoulder. The action feels out of place to her, like something other people did for each other. He reaches up to grasp her hand anyway.

"I don't know if you know, but Jeannie May passed on. Getting up in the mornings is a little," he clears his throat. "A little difficult." A flash of her hand clenching her gun flits through her mind. _I killed Jeannie May. Do I still get my discount? _ The thought flits over from a different life, one Lola could barely remember. One she was growing more and more confident that she wanted to stay forgotten.

"I'm so sorry," she murmurs, squeezing his shoulder. He squeezes her hand in return before letting go.

"What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for those REPCONN rockets," she says.

"I have just the thing. A whole room full of them. I'll give you the key for 113 caps." She doesn't try to barter with him for the key, instead paying full price. As if she could pay for Jeannie May's life. She isn't sorry the woman is dead, only sorry for the grief that her death caused Cliff. She takes a handful of rockets, and flees the store.

Raul is smoking a cigarette outside of her room, and waves at her. She stops just below where he is standing.

"You should be in bed, boss," he says.

"The night is young," she replies. "Boone still asleep?"

"Yeah." She nods. Good. She hadn't seen him sleep more than a wink since they started traveling together. She walks up the stairs into the room, and gingerly steps over a snoring Boone. She pulls out a pen and paper from her pack. Raul pokes his head over her shoulder.

"Is that a diary I see?" She makes a face at him, shooing him away.

"It's for practicing my writing," she says. She scrawls out a note in messy script, and leaves it on Boone's chest. "Come on. I've been meaning to make a pit stop."

* * *

><p>Ranger Station Charlie has been dead for days.<p>

The bodies have begun to rot, and Lola surveys the death around her with a familiar but sad gaze.

"Be careful, boss," Raul says into her ear. "They've booby-trapped the place." She can see the tell-tale glint of frag mines from underneath the bodies. "I'm good at disarming traps." She nods, and the two of them begin disarming the traps. As Raul swears and struggles with a particularly difficult tripwire, she looks over to see some holotapes scattered about. Probably some patrol notes. She plays them, and finds that she is very, very wrong.

"_This is a message to the NCR from the Legion. We are coming for you. Run, and we will catch you. Hide, and we will find you. No matter what you do, you are all going to die. We took one of the women alive." _ Raul hisses, disarming the tripwire.

"That's bad business, boss," he says. "There aren't very many reasons the Legion would take a woman alive."

"Yeah," she says, a sick feeling in her stomach.

The walk back to Novac is long and quiet, both Raul and Lola thinking back to the massacre at Ranger Station Charlie. She isn't relishing the thought of telling Andy about Charlie, and slows her steps considerably in an effort to delay the inevitable. The duo makes it back to Novac just as the sun begins its slow crawl over the sky, and she sees Andy wave a hand in recognition. Sighing, and dragging her feet, she walks over to deliver the bad news.

The look on Ranger Andy's face makes Lola want to sink into the Mojave dirt. He's devastated, and she clasps a hand on his shoulder.

"It isn't your fault," she murmurs.

"I know that," he says weakly. "I just feel like I could've done more. Those are good kids at Charlie. Were," he corrects himself. "God damn it." Raul, much to Lola's surprise, says,

"I'm sorry for your loss, sir. If it's any consolation, and I know it isn't, I can make some pretty decent tequila." Andy nods, and says,

"Yeah. I sure could use some. Come on in." Lola looks at Raul, and he clasps a hand on her shoulder.

"Go on, kid. I can handle this. I can see you aren't very good with grief."

"Thank you," she says, her throat tight. He waves her away and says,

"Go on. I think meathead is looking for you." She turns to see Boone walking down the stairs of the motel. His eyes dart back and forth, scanning the area for something. When he sees her, the tense set of his shoulders relaxes a little. She waves a hand in greeting and, surprised by the gesture, Boone waves back. She meets him halfway between Andy's bungalow and the motel. Raul follows Andy inside, and Lola asks,

"Did you sleep well?" Boone nods.

"As well as I ever do. How'd it go at Charlie?" She flinches, and answers,

"Legion." Boone grits his teeth.

"Should've taken me with you."

"The only thing we found were dead shoulders-_soldiers," _ she answers. She shakes her head. _We took one of the women alive. _Best not to mention it. He scowls, and asks,

"How are your burns?"

"Better," she says. "It still hurts to move, but I'd rather not waste any more time. Things to do, people to see."

"Ok," he says doubtfully. "Where to next?"

"Gibson Scrapyard," she says. "I think I remember Chris saying something about finding thrush modules there. Thrust modules." Boone nods, and leaves Novac behind once more.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe you paid 750 caps for those things," Boone says on the way back to Novac. "You could've at least haggled for them."<p>

"Words aren't my strong suit," she says. "Besides, she's a little old lady out all by her lonesome. I couldn't cheat her."

"She sure cheated you," Boone says. "Old doesn't mean stupid. You could've gotten them for less." She shrugs nonchalantly and says,

"Maybe in another life." Before Boone can ask what she means, Raul walks up to them. The ghoul looks thoughtful, and the usual spring in his step is subdued.

"Hey boss," he says by way of greeting. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Talk away," she says, and the trio heads toward the testing facility.

"What do you think of guys like Ranger Andy?" he says. She looks over at Raul, who leans forward earnestly, and Boone, who doesn't say anything.

"What do you mean, guys like Ranger Andy?" she asks.

"I mean guys who have a world of experience doing what they do, but have to give it up because they're too old, or too slow, or too injured. " She thinks for a moment, and says,

"Injury or not, Andy is tougher than most guys around," she says after a while. "His injury doesn't make him useless."

"Yeah, maybe. I guess you have a point," Raul says, and he seems unsure. Lola stops to look at him, the testing facility looming in the distance.

"We aren't just talking about Andy here, are we?" she asks softly. He tries to grin, but can't make it reach his eyes.

"No. We're not, boss. I, uh," he says, looking over at Boone. "Ah hell. You guys don't want to hear an old man's war stories." Before Lola can answer, Boone does.

"We're listening. Don't sell yourself short." Surprised, Raul does manage a smile. He motions for them to continue walking, and says,

"I grew up in a place called Hidalgo Ranch, just outside of Mexico D.F. It wasn't much, just a bit of a farm with a house large enough for three generations of Tejadas. I," and at this, he looks a little embarrassed . "I wasn't the best behaved kid. I was quick with my hands, with both a wrench and a pistol, and I wasn't afraid to fight about it."

"You, belligerent? Say it ain't so," Lola says with a grin. Raul returns her smile, with a playful push of her shoulder and a loud laugh.

"Don't get smart, kid. I've got more years of practice building up my ornery nature than you've been alive." She motions for him to continue, and he says,

"I never killed anybody, but I had my share of run-ins with the police. Mostly, my family kept me in line. This was before the war. After, we were far enough away from Mexico D.F when the bombs fell that we missed the worst of the radiation. But things got bad quick."

"They always do," Lola murmurs, and Raul nods. They reach the steps of the testing site, and go through the rotting wooden doors.

"Just a few days after Mexico D.F was vaporized, refugees started pouring down the road to our ranch. We helped those we could, but," and at this, his voice gets tight. "There were so many. Eventually, my father had to start turning people away before we ran out of food. Things got violent and my father and I ran them off with our guns. "

"What happened then?"

"About two dozen men came back in the night, after we had gone to sleep. They set fire to the ranch and barred the doors from the outside. My whole family was trapped inside. I smelled the smoke and got myself and my little sister Rafaela out, but everyone else," his voice trails off, and they stop in front of the door to the REPCONN basement. "My parents, my grandmother, my two brothers, and my two other sisters all died. The ones who came after us, I killed. The rest I left be. I had to take care of Rafaela, not throw my life away on revenge."

"You can't think this was your fault," Lola says, voice thick, and sets a trembling hand on his shoulder. "No one could have predicted what those men would have done." His hand briefly clasps hers for a moment before pulling it away.

"You aren't very good at this grief thing, boss. But that's all right. I've had two hundred years to heal. Some days, it just hurts more than others. Besides, that's not what I'm getting at. I'm just getting sentimental in my old age. I just wanted that off my chest." Boone silently watches Haze's face contort into an expression of unexplained sadness, obscured by the brim of her hat. Didn't seem like a woman who got sad very easily, but there she was, visibly trembling and a wrong word away from tears.

Lola shakes herself, and works to regain her composure. Raul's story had shaken her up more than she wanted to admit. When she thought of family, she thought of two unfamiliar people with smiling faces. Mother. Father. She thought of the both of them surrounded by flames, and that was all she could get. It fills her with an unnerving sense of loss, and her thoughts drift back to Raul's ranch house. About the fire that must have consumed it and everyone inside, and how it must feel to be completely alone with your memories instead of just completely alone.

She isn't sure which is worse.

* * *

><p>The music blares over the speakers in maddening sync with their pounding footsteps. The rockets were ready to fly, and all that was needed was a final act on their part. They race up the stairs to the launch pad, and Lola throws open the door to an unassuming little room overlooking the launch site. There are great whirring machines in the corner and a small red button in the center. She looks at the machines, and says,<p>

"I can't make any sense of this." Boone looks at her and shrugs. Raul, stepping up beside her, says,

"Hold on just a second, boss. I need to fix something." His old weathered fingers dance over the buttons and Lola sees the screen flicker strangely before settling. He smiles, satisfied, and says,

"There. The trajectory should be a little better now. Go on and push the button, kid." Lola nods and, with a trembling hand, pushes the gleaming red button. The earth begins to tremble as the launch site opens to the sky, and three rockets rise to fly to the Great Beyond. They take off as the music crescendos, and one of them shoots a little too close to where they stand. Taking in a sharp intake of breath, she steps back into a solid mass standing behind her, and hears that sharp intake of breath echoed. She looks up to see Boone staring down at her, eyes hooded by his sunglasses and the brim of his beret. Her head leans up, and her lips almost brush his chin. She can hear his heartbeat thudding in his chest, and watches the muscles in his neck move as he swallows. His hot breath dances over her head. His hand unconsciously rests on her hip, and the pressure feels like a muted attempt to push her away and draw her close at the same time.

She shakily steps away, and Boone nods slightly before turning back to the rockets.

"Let's go," she says after a long and edgy moment. "We've done all we can."

The walk back to Novac is once again a quiet and tense one. Boone stays the furthest from the group in the name of keeping an eye out for danger. The tense set of his shoulders contrasts sharply against the setting sun. Lola's hand drifts to her hip, and she feels soiled.

She hadn't wanted to move away from Boone. She wanted to lean back into him and just close her eyes. Maybe if she'd been the way she'd been before, she'd have no qualms about taking the man to bed. That's just one more reason to try and let go of a blurry past she can't remember. She wasn't a good person, and moments like this were proof. She was selfish and lacking. But she had found the strength to step away from a grieving man, and leave him to his peace.

That should count for something, but there is this unnerving sense that it doesn't.


	14. A Change of Plans

Chapter Fourteen: A Change of Plans

_When words are scarce, they are hardly spent in vain. –_William Shakespeare

Heat waves rise up off of the cracked I-93, and Boone hasn't ever been so happy to see the 188 Trading Post. Prospectors dot the horizon, and Boone feels a familiar surge of relief. The 188 is NCR turf, and that means it's as safe as it can be in the wastes.

Lola eyes dart all over the place once they arrive. She analyzes escape routes before focusing on the people. She catalogues the way they move and what weapons they carry, and gets half-way through all of the people she can see before stopping herself. What is she doing this for? This is a trading post. Sure, most everyone had a gun, but this was the wasteland. The necessity of a gun was a hard fact of life. What kind of person analyzes escape routes and all the best ways to neutralize potential threats?

"No offense," a voice says. "But you look like you've traveled a long way down some bad roads. Where'd you come from?"

"Goodsprings," she answers, although a nagging voice in the back of her mind tells her that's wrong.

"Wow, you're a long way from home," the girl comments. Lola nods sadly. "I've never been there but I've talked to a few traders who have passed through." She holds her hand out for Lola to take. "I'm Veronica. My home is a hole in the ground."

"A hole in the ground?" Lola asks. After a moment's consideration and a deft nod from Veronica, she says, "Well. That's not very exciting." Veronica laughs.

"And being from Goodsprings is?" she asks. Her head tilts and she adds, "So you looking for any new help? You and grumpy eyes over there are a group, right?"

"I hope you're talking about meathead and not me," Raul grumbles. Boone has the strangest expression on his face and Lola bites back a laugh as she notices that he is trying not to be offended.

"We could use some help," Lola says warily, feeling strange about the offer. She feels that being in a group isn't like her. Doesn't suit her. But she also finds she likes the company. There is something soothing about being surrounded by allies.

"What do you think of the Brotherhood of Steel?" Veronica asks. The question seems innocent enough but Lola notices the way her companions fidget and twitch.

"I heard they can shoot lasers out of their eyes," Boone says, thinking of the stories his parents told to him at night to make him behave. It brings a smile to Veronica's lips and he scowls.

"Insightful as ever, hijo," Raul says blandly. "They're a group who'll leave well enough alone if you don't have any fancy Pre-War technology that they want."

"I don't really know anything about them," Lola admits. "I can't really remember much of anything."

"Well, " she says, scooping up Boone's hat and plopping it on her hood before striding past them. "The only reason I asked is because I'm one of them. Dinner, anyone?" As they watch her stride away, Boone's hand momentarily reaches up to stroke at the peach fuzz on top of his shaved head. Then he scowls deeper and runs after the girl, declaring in the most overwrought voice possible,

"I'd really like my beret back, please."

"I like her," Raul says, shooting Lola a grin. "Can we keep her?"

Dinner is a jovial affair taking place with the four of them seated at a decaying bar made of the rotting shell of a bus. Veronica gestures wildly with a Nuka Cola in her hand and the others listen to her stories. Lola finds the words drifting in and out, hard to catch, but she knows when to laugh by Raul's rough guffaw and the hint of a smile cracking on Boone's lips.

"And then, just out of nowhere," Veronica's voice trails off as Lola looks around the outpost. She sees an angry looking man just under the overpass. She excuses herself from her group and walks down the hill to him. He scowls when he sees her.

"We're just about to close up for the night," he says and doesn't hide his annoyance.

"You an arms dealer?" she asks. Unfamiliar words spring to her lips and she says them. "Gun runner?" He snorts and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Like you have a clue what that even means," he scoffs.

"I'd look-_like-_to see what you have for sale," she tries again. "I know a bit about," her voice trails off and the word is on the tip of her tongue. Damn it! She motions helplessly to the object holstered on her hip. His eyes look down at it and he shakes his head.

"You cracked in the head or something?" he asks. "Am I selling? Yeah. But not to you. You're small time, and unstable besides." Her face flushes red and she speaks again, her words tripping over themselves and coming out as an indecipherable mess that causes the man to take a step back.

"She's with me, Alexander. Watch your tone." Lola turns to see Boone staring at the Gun Runner harshly over his sunglasses, Raul and Veronica trailing behind at a leisurely pace. "I can vouch for her. She can't really talk, but she knows what she's doing. We need ammo. Guns."

"Boone," Alexander says, surprised. "Well, hell. Since it's you. If Ms. Gobledegook over here has a First Recon guy vouching for her then I can make an exception." Lola glares heatedly at the Gun Runner as Boone, ungraceful as ever, buys the group much needed ammunition. Boone catches her eye and gives a slight nod to her, but that doesn't do anything to make her feel any better.

She eyes a small boy sitting underneath the shadow of the overpass. A strange contraption covers his head like a cage. She makes her way over to him, Veronica breaking from Raul to follow her at Boone's quiet and subtle urging. The boy looks up at Lola as she approaches.

"Words fail you," he says. She nods. "I'm the forecaster. Would you like a reading? It's only a 100 caps." Eyeing the threadbare mat behind him and the worn but well loved teddy bear he clings to, she nods her assent and counts the money out for him, crouching in front of him.

"Do you want you, here or everywhere?" She points at herself and the child nods, taking off his strange head gear. His eyes instantly glaze over and his face wrinkles in pain.

"Your face does the thinking - two to the skull, yet one gets up." She touches the scars on her head. Even now they throb. "Odds are against you, but they're just numbers after the two-to-one. You're playing the hand you've been dealt, but you don't let it rest, you shuffle and stack, and gamble. A gamble that may pay off? But how? Forecast: Rapidly changing conditions." She stares at the kid as he puts his headgear back on. Once it is securely in place, he smiles serenely.

"You're going to the Strip, right?" She nods in response. "Bet two to one on whatever gamble you make. You can't lose." She nods and stands. Before she can walk off, the kid says, "Hey, you counted wrong. You gave me two hundred. You get another reading." She shakes her head. She doesn't want one. She saw the pain it caused him. As if he could read her thoughts (or maybe just her body language) he says, "Something happened that doesn't happen very often. I picked up something else while I had the limiter off." That stops her. She looks over her shoulder at him expectantly. He grins sheepishly. "I only told you one because I thought you only paid for one." She motions for him to continue.

"Your friends? Watch the one in the red hat. Dead end future. Hopelessness at the end of the barrel of a gun. Nightmares seen through a scope. Looking for a way out." She eyes Boone haggling with Alexander. The sound of his voice, but not necessarily his words, carry across the air to her. He sounds tired. "Weariness weighs down every bone, searching desperately for the long sleep. Forecast: Dark with a chance of storms."

"Odd," Veronica whispers softly next to her and she jumps. She had forgotten the woman was there. She smiles, gently patting her arm. "Raul and Boone sent me after you. We saw the display with Alexander. They told me I should hustle you to bed." Lola nods, with one last look at the Forecaster, and then to Boone. She lets Veronica lead her back up to the decaying bus and the military tents that had sprung up around it.

She plops down on an empty cot with a frustrated hiss and all but tears a book out of her pack. Veronica sits with her and tinkers with her powerfist. Lola mouths the words as she reads, and tries speaking them.

"In naught of stormy weather, where coldly houses haven," she says, making a frustrated noise. Wrong. All of it wrong. She's so focused on trying to get the words right-_right, God damn it._ Speaking wasn't this hard for anyone else, even Boone!-that she fails to notice when Raul and Boone enter the tent. A hand pulls the book from her grasp.

"Give it a rest," Boone says. He closes the book and sets it down gently beside her. "You won't get anywhere with that tonight. You need to rest." She opens her mouth to speak, and the shuts it again. Tears of frustration burn at her eyes. Why can't she speak?

"We'll try again in the morning, hija," Raul says.

She goes to bed that night discontented and silent. Words and disjointed memories swirl in her mind like some long forgotten nightmare and she wakes several times with a deep piercing pain in her head. Murmured sounds she can't understand work to soothe her back to sleep. Once, she even feels a hand stroke her hair.

* * *

><p>Boone keeps an eye on Veronica as they travel, but soon grows bored with watching the scribe do nothing but punch at fake enemies with her powerfist. Lola trails behind them taking in everything around them. She had been able to speak a little better when she woke up but she hadn't been making as much of an effort to speak as she had been. Boone finds that her silence bothers him.<p>

"You know, you don't have to worry," he says. She looks at him. "About the talking thing. I'm no good at it either." She smiles wryly and it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"At least you don't get words confused, or forget how to say something," she says. She sighs, pulling her hat off and running a hand through her hair and over the scars on her temple. "It's-" her voice trails off and her forehead creases.

"Frustrating," he finishes for her. "Yeah. I know." She nods.

"You know," Veronica calls from in front of them. "I hear the Followers of the Apocalypse have a camp in Freeside. They may be able to help you when we get there. We're gonna have to go through there to get to Vegas anyway." Lola nods.

"If you think it'll have-_help,_" she says with an irritable noise building in the back of her throat. They continue to walk in silence and he hears Haze whisper words every now and then. Practicing how to speak.

Camp McCarran slowly comes up into view on the horizon and Boone clenches his teeth. Last he hear First Recon was stationed there. He can remember the faces of his old team clearly. They were just one of the things that haunted him whenever he tried to sleep. He hopes Haze will pass the camp by but he has no such luck as he sees a familiar flash of red exit the decrepit airport.

They meet the sniper battalion in the middle of the road. Lieutenant Gorobets looks even more world worn and weary than Boone remembers.

"Howdy," Lola says slowly, tipping her hat to him. He nods in response.

"Ma'am. That beret looks good, Corporal Boone," he says. Boone automatically straightens his posture and salutes the other man.

"Sir," he answers.

"At ease, soldier. What brings you all the way out here? I thought you'd wiped your hands of Vegas."

"Change of plans, sir," he says, cutting his eyes over to Haze. Gorobets looks her up and down before answering with a soft,

"I see."

"So, you found a nice piece of ass? Good for you," a woman says from behind the lieutenant. She catches Lola's eye and winks. Lola notices the dark circles underneath her eyes and the rigid way she holds herself. "Girl, you are some grade-A poon. Did anybody ever tell you that?"

"Goddamn it, Betsy," Gorobets says. Lola reaches for her gun and pulls it out of the holster.

"Haze, what are you doing?" Boone asks.

"Get down," Lola says to Betsy. She stares at the barrel of the gun, dumbfounded, until the youngest sniper with the glasses and the face wrap pulls her out of the way. Lola shoots, the recoil vibrating up her arm all the way to her shoulder. A single fiend, armed with a cowboy repeated, falls to the ground a few yards away. Their Brahmin skull helmet cracks against the concrete and it seems to echo because of the silence. Lola silently holsters her pistol and holds a hand out to the dazed corporal. Betsy takes it and Lola pulls her up.

"You folks need help?" she asks. Gorobets looks between her then Betsy and finally Boone.

"Yeah, if you have the stomach for it."

"Lead the way," Lola says, gesturing for the group of snipers to lead.


	15. Three Card Bounty

Chapter Fifteen: Three-Card Bounty

_Although you may spend your life killing, You will not exhaust all your foes. But if you quell your own anger, your real enemy will be slain.-Nagarjuna_

"You big show-off," Veronica teases as the group makes their way to Samson Rock Crushing Plant. Lola gives her a questioning look but can't stop the smile that breaks over her face.

"What?"

"Way to make an entrance, shooting that fiend like that. Who needs to talk with actions like that?" Lola chuckles, scratching the back of her head underneath her hat.

"Didn't want the fiends to get the drape-_drop-_on us," she says.

"Uh-huh sure you didn't. Show-off," Veronica says, elbowing Lola in the ribs.

"You gonna be good being on the ground?" Boone asks from in front of them. He eyes Lola in particular. "We can move you up to the sniper's nest." Lola shakes her head and pats her holstered pistol.

"Nephi is wicked with that damned 9 iron," another corporal, Sterling, calls from beside Raul. "Lost more than a few good men to it."

"We'll be careful," Veronica answers. "You guys need distractions, right?"

"Right, and we'll let you keep any bounty that Major Dhatri has on this bastard," Gorobets says. "Thing is that means we can't take a headshot on him. The brass wants the head as proof."

"Can't ruin his good looks," Lola says slowly. "Got it." The youngest of First Recon gives her a strange look.

"Are you a tr-tr-tribal?" He stutters. "You have trouble t-t-t-talking."

"So do you," she says and she can see the beginnings of a blush creep up from underneath his face mask. She can see that he is sensitive about his speech impediment and she could probably use that to her advantage. _No reason,_ she thinks. _Except to be needlessly cruel. _"I can't really remember why-_what -_I am, other than a courier."

"Oh," he says, embarrassed. "I j-j-just thought English m-m-might not be your first language."

"It might not be," she says. "Who knows? What's your name, kid?"

"T-t-ten of Spades," he says. She smiles.

"Sounds like you're the tribal, with a gnome-_name_-like that. That the name you were born with?" He shakes his head.

"Nope. The LT, Gorobets, gave it to me. See, I w-w-wanted to be Ace of Spades. But the LT says, 'sorry, kid. You're t-t-t-too green.' So he calls me Ten instead. But that's okay. I get a few more k-k-kills under my belt and he'll move me up to Jack. Jack sounds better, right?" She nods.

"Sounds real badass." Ten of Spades' eyes crinkle up into a smile. "You might ought'ta skip Queen, though."

"That was the plan," he says, laughing. His eyes stray to Coporal Betsy and his mood darkens. "Hey, are you g-g-g-gonna go after the other bounties?"

"Might," she says. "Don't really fancy myself a mercenary." _Liar. _"You got someone who needles-_needs-_killing?"

"Yeah," he says. "A fiend named Cook-cook. He's part of Major Dhatri's bounty list. I-I-I'd appreciate it." She nods.

"We'll probably need money to get into the Strip. We'll look into it,"  
>she says.<p>

"T-t-t-thanks," he says quietly. The group stops outside of the old Samson Rock Crushing Plant. It hadn't been in business since right before the Great War. It had seen use in recent days by the fiends, Driver Nephi's group in particular. Gorobets begins directing his men, Boone included, into ideal sniper positions. Before making his way to his position, Boone stops in front of her.

"You gonna be okay?"

"That's the second time you've asked," she says amused. "You worried or something?"

"Or something," he says. Her brow crinkles and she waves him off.

"I ain't need-_don't_-need to be able to talk right to shoot. You just focus on watching our backs."

"Yes ma'am," he says. Hesitantly, she rests a hand on his shoulder and pushes him toward Gorobets.

"Make me proud, soldier." She can't make out his expression from behind his sunglasses but he gives her one final nod before following First Recon up to their sniping positions.

"You ready to stir up some trouble?" Veronica asks, checking her powerfist. Raul exhales and checks the rounds in his revolver.

"Do you we have to?" he says. Lola grins, adjusting the brim of her hat.

"Always."

The fiends aren't expecting them. They mill around aimlessly, holding their weapons with quivering hands. Lola knocks one out of a crumbling window with a well-placed shot and the fighting begins. The group collides with the fiends and First Recon makes sure they don't get swarmed. Veronica punches a fiend in the face and sends him flying. Lola stops and allows herself to be impressed before scanning the fiends. They're only there for one person and he has yet to show himself.

A blast of plasma flies past Lola's head and she ducks behind the skeletal remains of a wall. She exhales and rolls to the side to get behind a different barricade. She shoots fiends as she makes her way to the center of the camp. She hears Raul swearing in Spanish and the sound is both oddly familiar and comforting at the same time.

She sees Veronica punching her way through the fiends. She pauses long enough to make sure the girl doesn't get swarmed with them before moving on. A fiend charges her with a sledgehammer. She raises her gun to take her out when a bullet from a member of First Recon beats her to it. She nods her head and continues to search for Nephi. Most of the fiends were chemmed out of their skulls. She doesn't expect Nephi to be any different. He should be easy pickings.

Boone watches the skirmish through his scope. He takes out the fiends who threaten to swarm Veronica and Raul. He spots Haze crouching along a deteriorating wall. Shadows flicker over her form and work to keep her mostly hidden from sight. It's almost like she's melting into her surroundings. But her prey is expecting her. Boone takes aim at the fiend following her, 9-iron gripped tightly in hand.

"Lola, look out!" she hears Veronica yell. She turns and staggers out of the way of a bloodied 9-iron. It embeds itself in the crumbling wall beside her. The fiend wielding it, Nephi, grins manically and pulls it from the wall. She feels rotted bricks hit her boots. With a great and booming cry he lunges toward her again. She dives underneath his arm and swings her gun around to shoot him. He is gone in an instant and she can hear labored breathing beside her ear. She turns her head, fearful that she can't get out of the way fast enough. He lifts his 9-iron above his head with both hands and she ducks as he swings, rolling forward. The edge of the 9-iron catches her arm, ripping through her armor and cutting her bicep. Dust billows up around them and Nephi hisses like an animal, blinking dust out of his eyes. She aims her gun at him again while he is distracted.

"She still on the ground?" Boone calls to Gorobets. Gorobets looks through his scope and gives him a nod. "I'm taking the shot."

Nephi stumbles away from the dust cloud and Lola misses her mark. With a curse, she pulls the trigger again only to hear an empty click. He lifts his 9-iron again and takes a step toward her as she scurries to cover. His head explodes in a crimson and chunky spray. The 9-iron falls from his hand as his body falls to its knees and she sees the glint of a sniper rifle on the roof of the building behind him. The rifle lowers to reveal Boone's grim expression. She stands and moves over to the body. She kicks it over and winces at the squelching sound it makes. Veronica and Raul, finally done clearing out the rest of the fiends, walk up to the scene.

There is no salvaging the head.

"What part of 'don't ruin his good looks' didn't you get?" Veronica calls. Lola picks up the 9-iron, marveling at how something so simple could have been so deadly.

"Guess we can give him this," she says.

"It's less messy than trying to bring the head," Raul says, making a face. First Recon meets them as they make their way out of the ancient rock crushing plant.

"I had it covered," Lola says when Boone walks up. He snorts. She looks down at the 9-iron in her hand and tries not to think about how close she was to being Nephi's next victim. "But thane-_thanks."_

"Yeah," is all he says in response.

* * *

><p>"I'm not authorized to give you the full bounty," Major Dhatri says when Lola presents him with Nephi's 9-iron. "But here's a little something out of my own pocket. I doubt you'd been able to get this cursed thing away from him while he was still alive." Lola accepts the caps with a quiet 'thank you' and he looks her group up and down.<p>

"Feel free to take down the other fiend leaders as well. Those bastards have caused us no end of grief. I don't care how you get it done. You interested?" Lola eyes Ten of Spades as he follows the rest of First Recon back to their tent. His eyes meet hers in an almost pleading manner.

"Yeah," she says. "Interests me quite a bit." A savage grin cracks over Dhatri's face.

"Good! That's damn good. Since you've already killed Nephi, the only two left are Violet and Cook-Cook." Lola nods and listens to Dhatri's information regarding the fiends. Violet, pretty in name only, is surrounded by her dogs instead of people and Cook-Cook doesn't have near as large a following as Nephi did. It seems that Nephi was the sane one out of the bunch and the other fiends try to deal with the other two as little as possible. He recommends going to talk to a man named Little Buster. Lola thanks the Major and finds Little Buster hitting a training dummy that has seen better days. In between each hit, he takes a deep swig of wine from a bottle he grips tightly in his fist.

"Little Buster?" she asks. He turns and a goofy grin breaks over his face.

"Hey, pretty lady," he slurs. "What'cha need?"

"We're going after Cook-Cook," she says and he winces, taking another drink of wine.

"He's a tough mark," he says. "I gave him up because he might've cost me some bad burns or an ass-rape. I'm all for risking my life, but I'm a little sensitive about my asshole." Raul snorts from behind her.

"Charming," Veronica comments.

"Anything else?" Lola asks. Buster finishes off the last dregs of his wine before throwing the bottle on the ground.

"Yeah. He has this pet brahim he's real fond of. Calls her Queenie. He'll roast the others with his flame thrower for fun but not her. He treats her like a person. Only better. If you took her out, it might make him careless." Lola nods and tries to thank him but the word gets caught in her throat.

"Thanks," Boone says and he gives her a nod. After the debriefing, the group makes their way to an unoccupied tent.

"How are we going to do this?" Veronica asks, flexing her power-fist. Boone leans against a tent pole as the rest of the group sits down.

"I'd rather get this nasty business done quickly," Lola says, pulling her hat off of her head and wiping sweat from her brow. "If we broke up into two groups and went after both of them at once, we'd be able to wipe them out before the sun goes down."

"Who goes after who?" Raul asks.

"You and Veronica will go after Violet. Veronica, will you be able to fight of her dogs with jest-_just_-your power fist?" Veronica nods and punches her fist into her palm.

"No worries here." Lola nods.

"Raul?"

"I'm old, but still a crack shot. Just don't send me after someone who's just as likely to eat me as kill me."

"Boone, you and I will go after Cook-Cook. You snipe and I'll get in close for the kale-_kill._"

"Not a good idea," he says. "You were careless with Nephi. Cook-Cook is a degenerate. If you're careless around him," at this, his voice trails off and he scowls. Lola crosses her arms.

"What do you suggest?"

"We both strike at a distance. Snipe him from a safe vantage point."

"And risk a headshot? We need the head for the bounty," she argues.

"What does it matter? We'll still get money from Dhatri for him."

"It's a lane-_long-_way to Vegas. We're gonna need all the caps we can get. Besides, he'll just scamper off if there isn't anyone down there to engage him," she says. Boone sighs, pulling his sunglasses off of his face to rub at the bridge of his nose.

"We can get him just fine from a distance. You got lucky with Nephi."

"We're taking this bastard off-_out_," Lola says vehemently. "No chances taken." Boone looks at her and she finds herself shocked by how different he looks without his sunglasses. She feels stricken by the chill that runs down her spine at the eye contact.

"This is personal for you. Why?"

"Spades asked," is all she says.

"Thought you didn't fancy yourself a mercenary," Boone says. She scowls at him and an oddly familiar voice shoots though her mind.

_ "Listen, kid, you do this then you do it right. I didn't take you in to teach you how to pick broc flowers."_

"_I don't_," she says between clenched teeth. Raul and Veronica look between the two of them nervously.

"You might get that arm checked out before you go," Raul says, coughing softly into his hand.

"Yeah," Veronica says, backing him up. "You're still bleeding." Lola looks down at her arm to see that they are right.

"All right," she says, standing. She walks past Boone and he puts his sunglasses back on. She feels a shudder of relief run through her at not having to see his eyes.

"We'll take out Violet and meet you back here," Veronica says. Lola nods.

"Be careful," she says.

"You too, hija," Raul says. "Don't get in over your head. " She smiles.

"When have I ever?" The four of them part ways at the entrance to Camp McCarran. Lola waves her friends off. She would be lying if she said she wasn't a little worried for them. She wasn't sure about Veronica's capabilities when the pretty brunette joined their group. But after the battle with Driver Nephi's group Veronica had more than impressed her. And Raul, despite all of his talk of aging, handled a revolver better than anyone Lola had ever remembered seeing. He reminded her of someone that lurked within the recesses of her mind. She felt that if she just reached out far enough she could capture that haunting memory. But no matter how far she reached, the memory always danced out of her grasp.

She is brought back to herself by a sharp sting on her arm. Boone examines her wound with his fingertips. She notices that he is careful to make sure that is all he touches her with.

"We'd better clean this out before it gets infected," he says. "You got any rubbing alcohol?"

"In my pack."

"Get it out." She nods and digs the rubbing alcohol out of her pack. She pours some over her wound and hisses at the sting.

"Shit," she swears.

"Means its cleaning it," Boone says, pulling some torn and worn gauze out of her pack. He wraps her wound with brutal efficiency, careful not to touch her longer than necessary. "It hurt so much because he got you across one of your burns. How're those healing up?"

"Fine," she says, looking down at her hands. The skin is a little scarred and puckered but she can move her fingers without pain. Boone finishes tying the bandages and her hand reaches up to touch the knot. He'd made it a little too tight. "Thanks."

"Yeah," he says. "You need to be in the best condition you can get if we're going after Cook-Cook. Any plan besides me sniping and you getting in close?"

"'Fraid that's the gist of it," she says. "Probably get you to take out his pet bramhim." His brow furrows.

"This is a bad idea. You're going to get yourself killed."

"No I won't," she says. "I have you to wait-_watch-_my back." He looks at her again and at this distance, she can just barely make out his eyes behind his sunglasses. He shakes his head and turns away from her.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," he says blandly. They begin traveling toward Cook-Cook's escapement in silence and Lola finds she misses the chatter of the group. They make their way to South Vegas without incident, which surprises Lola. However, the lack of trouble may have less to do with their luck and more to do with Boone killing fiends too far away for her to see.

Boone sets up on the top floor of a decaying building. He grumbles to himself as he checks his rifle to make sure it is loaded and he can still see through the scope. He tries to calm his jitters by examining his rifle.

This was a bad idea, sure as lack of rain.

"You ready?" Lola asks from behind him. He gives a single curt nod.

"I've got your back," he says. She turns to walk away and he looks at her retreating form over his shoulder. "Hey." She stops.

"Yeah?"

"Be careful."

"Yessir," she says, giving him a half-salute. "No worries. Done before dinner."

"I mean it," he says with a little more force than he meant to. She nods.

"I know you do. I do too." And with that, she is gone, sneaking her way down to the fiends.


	16. Simple

Chapter Sixteen: Simple

_Bitterness is like a cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns all clean.-_ Maya Angelou.

Her heart pounds in her chest as she makes her way down to the group of fiends and their leader, Cook-Cook. There were more of them than she expected but not nearly the number they had seen when they had seen when her group faced off against Driver Nephi.

Maybe Boone is right, and this is a bad idea.

"No time to second guess yourself, Dolores," she says, the name she had remembered for herself giving her little comfort. "In, out and back in time for diner-_dinner." _ She crouches down and sees a group of fiends further to her left. They patrol the blown-out buildings that they have been using for a base. She smells food cooking and her stomach rumbles. But, with the things she had heard about Cook-Cook, she doesn't think she'd want to eat whatever he made, no matter how delicious smelling. She takes a grenade off of her belt and pulls the pin. Exhaling and counting to three a little too quickly, she throws it at the large gathering of fiends.

Boone takes the large explosion to the left as the signal to start shooting. He puts down the survivors of the frag grenade, all the while keeping an eye out for Cook-Cook. He sees the monster of a man stand from the campfire and sling his flame-thrower on over his shoulder. He pulls his iron mask down and starts attacking in the direction the grenade came from-the direction Haze had better get the hell away from.

The fiends swarm like insects, yelling and searching for her. She slips into the cover of the building she had been sneaking against. From the relative darkness of the building she took cover in she shoots the fiends that end up getting too close to her position. She can see the ones that fall by Boone's rifle and silently reminds herself to thank him for being such a good shot. She sees the crowd of fiends part for a large man wielding a flame-thrower. She aims her pistol at the gas tank on his back and shoots. The first bullet bounces off of the tank and she swears as the monster of a man looks right at her. She sees a savage grin from underneath his helmet and he makes his way toward her even as his fiends fall around him.

"Hey there, pretty girl," he calls. "Why don't you come on out?"

"Why don't you go right to hell?" she mutters, eyeing the building across the open and exposed expanse of dirt. She could probably make it over there but the question was whether or not she could make it over there unseen.

"I promise I won't hurt you," he says again, his voice closer than it was before. "At least, not enough to kill you. Not yet."

"Shit," she says, scooting away from the sound of the voice.

"_Jesus, kid-you gonna flinch away like a scared rabbit at the first sign of trouble?" _

"I don't know who you are," she mutters to the voice ringing in her ears. "But I'd appropriate-_appreciate-_it if you would shut the hell up."

"_I didn't take you in to teach you how to pick broc flowers! This isn't a damned fieldtrip!" _She gives a frustrated growl and her foot catches on some rubble. Before she can stop it, the rubble rolls down to the feet of Cook-Cook. He turns to face her with that same grin covering his face. It's even worse up close.

"Found you," he breathes. Lola takes off running across the expanse of dirt between the ruined buildings, no longer caring if she is exposed. She hears Cook-Cook's thundering footsteps and maniacal laughter behind her. She hears the roar of the flame-thrower as Cook-Cook fires it.

_Not again. _

She feels the back of her armor catch fire. She whirls around and fires off a wild shot at Cook-Cook before hitting the ground in an effort to quell the flames. She feels the fire dance across her back and hisses through clenched teeth at the burn. She rolls, kicking up dirt as the flames on her armor die. She hears the loud thud of Cook-Cook dropping the flamethrower and she makes out gas spurting from a hole she'd made in the tank. She scrambles to her feet and takes off running as the flamethrower explodes. Shards of it fly past her as she continues to run, keeping an eye out for Cook-Cook. The smoke obscures everything and she tries her best not to panic. She hears the crunch of footsteps and dodges Cook-Cook as he lunges for her.

Boone tries to watch the two of them through his scope but the smoke from the explosion obscures his vision. He swears as he gets Cook-Cook in his sights only to lose him as he lunges for Haze. He didn't want to fire a shot off in case he hit Haze by mistake. He hears the fiend's haunting laughter and a sharp cry from her. He holsters his rifle on his back and grabs his pistol.

Fuck it. He's going down there.

Cook-Cook's hands wrap around her arms and she falls onto her back. Her pistol slides out of her reach. She lets out a sharp cry as the rubble that covers the wasteland dirt digs into the burn on her back.

"Got you," Cook-Cook says gleefully, almost like a child playing tag. "You sure are a pretty one, even with those scars. I'll be happy to give you more to match them."

"Get off of me," she growls, kicking and punching wildly. She manages to hit him in the gut and he grunts, but it doesn't slow him down.

"I like it when they have fight in them!" His hands tear at her armor and she lets out a scream of rage. She headbutts him and blinks away the spots that pop up in front of her eyes. He laughs and pulls her arms down to pin underneath his knees. He is strong and large, his belly protruding over the waistline of his pants. She feels the hilt of her combat knife strapped to her thigh and her fingers close around it.

Cook-Cook leans forward and licks her cheek like a dog, murmuring things that she can't make out. She tugs her knife from her hilt as he sits up to pull the burnt remnants of her top off. She yanks her hand free and plunges the knife into his throat. His eyes widen and his hands go to the wound to try and staunch the blood flow. She feels the warm blood run down her arms and she pushes the knife in deeper, twisting it. She hears the sickening crack of his spine and blood sprays over her until she's drenched in it. He slumps forward and she follows him, finishing the gruesome job of collecting his head for the bounty. She hears footsteps jog up. She growls, lifting the knife up in a threatening manner in one hand and Cook-Cook's head in the other.

"Haze?" Boone says cautiously, taking a step back. She looks at him with unfocused eyes, not really seeing him.

"_Jesus, kid, look at this mess!" he barks, arms crossed tightly over his chest. She sits in the middle of a dark puddle of blood. The body of the man she was sent to kill lies not far from her, finally still. _

_ "Lo siento, Cervantes," she says, tears running down her face. She stares at hands that are too small for her. Too small and covered in too much blood. "He wouldn't stop moving!"_

"Haze!" She snaps out of the memory with a flinch. Boone is crouching in front of her.

"Hey," he says. "There you are. Where'd you go?"

"New Reno," comes to her mouth unbidden. "I'd," her voice trails off as she looks down at her hands and her front. She touches her face and her fingers come away sticky. "I'd really like to get cleaned up." He nods and stands back as she stands up.

The walk back to McCarran is a silent one, longer and more awkward than the way to South Vegas. The sun begins a slow and lazy decent over the sky as they walk. Lola tries to focus on the memory that has recently surfaced but it was becoming hazy and indistinct. She could see her hands clearly, as well as the man she had killed. But the other one-Cervantes?-he was a blur, like an actor in a ruined holotape. And those words out of her mouth. She'd sounded like Raul. Did she know Spanish?

"Lo siento, Cervantes," she says, her tongue tripping over the seemingly familiar syllables. Boone gives her an odd look.

"What're you sorry for?" she looks at him in surprise.

"You speak Spain_-Spanish_?" At this he turns his eyes away and shifts uncomfortably.

"Carla spoke it," he says quietly. "Called me guero." After that he moves forward more, further away from her. His posture is stiff and uncomfortable, as though he is trying to keep more pain from spilling out.

Lola keeps her mouth shut after that.

* * *

><p>The soldiers at Camp McCarran are deafening in their carousing. They spill drinks on themselves and their friends as they celebrate the demise of the fiends. But the soldiers in the camp fall eerily silent, one by one, as they see the Courier walk through the camp blood-drenched and holding Cook-Cook's head by the hair. She walks up to Major Dhatri and presents the head to him, a macabre prize.<p>

"Collecting a bounty," is all she can get out. He perks up, despite the blood that covers her.

"That right? You got one of the psychopaths on my shitlist?" he says, gingerly taking the head from her. He scrunches his nose up in disgust. "Yeah, that's Cook-Cook. Christ, did he always smell like this? And the fiends let this bastard touch their food?" He looks her up and down. "Thank you. You and your group have done us a hell of a service. Your friends turned in Violet's head earlier. And this," he says, shaking the head in his hands. "Is payback for at least one of our soldiers. She'll be glad to hear he's dead. Thank you, soldier." She nods.

"Showers?" she asks. He nods, pointing his thumb back behind him.

"You'll find them in the Concourse bathrooms. You look like you could use one, to say the least." She nods and pushes open the doors to the airport terminal. Soldiers quit talking as she makes her way up the stairs to the concourse. She sees First Recon and her friends sitting at a table playing cards and drinking beers. They raise their drinks in greeting but stop short when they see the state she is in.

"Boone, go to them, would you? I'm gotta-_gonna-_get cleaned up."

"You gonna be okay?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah. Just need to freshen up, is all." She gives him a weak smile before fleeing to the concourse bathrooms. They are mercifully empty and she doesn't bother taking her clothes off as she steps underneath a rusted and ancient showerhead. She turns the water on and it washes over her like a freezing rain. She leans her head against the cracked tile and closes her eyes so she doesn't have to see the blood swirl down the drain in the floor.

Jesus, what kind of person was she?

The adrenaline rush from the fight with Cook-Cook was wearing off and Lola found she didn't want it to. She _liked _it. The feeling of trading blows, of fighting for her life. The feeling of power that came from eventually besting her enemy. Her fist clenches and she hits it against the wall, causing some of the broken tile to fall to the floor.

She had _relished _killing Cook-Cook and claiming his head as a trophy. A part of her criticized herself for the messiness of it, much like the man in that already fuzzy memory. But another deeper and darker part had basked in the killing, feeling invincible while drenched in blood.

Before she can make sense of it, her stomach churns and she finds herself kneeling over the toilet, throwing up her lunch. She shakily wipes her mouth.

_What kind of person am I?_

"Hey, Lola?" she hears a voice call tentatively from the doorway. She looks up to see Veronica holding folded clothes tightly to her chest. "You okay?"

"F-fine," she says, nodding. She stands up, eyeing the still running shower. "What'd you need?"

"Boone sent these," Veronica says, holding out the clothes but keeping a distance. "They're NCR fatigues. He figured you'd want some new clothes." She nods, looking down at her armor. It is still stained with blood. "He also sent me-said something about being proper and what not. So if you have any dark, chilling confessions, I'm here to hear them." Lola shudders. _Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned._

"No," she says. "No confessions here." She strips out of her tainted armor and Veronica whistles a tune and averts her eyes. Lola chuckles and gets back underneath the spray to rinse off any left over viscera. She dries herself off and takes the clothes from Veronica.

"Thanks," she slurs. Veronica nods.

"Anytime. Come on. You're missing a hell of a card game." Lola follows Veronica, their roles reversed, to the table First Recon sits at. Their eyes are tight when they see her but they do a convincing job of smiling. Raul is the only one who seems genuinely glad to see her. She waves and gives a weak smile back in return.

"Hey," a voice says. Lola turns to see Corporal Betsy leaning against a wall, smoking a cigarette. "Got a minute?" A witty retort, something along the lines of 'I always have time for you, gorgeous' comes to her mind, but she is too tired to fight the words out. She simply nods and walks over to lean on the wall next to Betsy. The corporal takes a deep drag of her cigarette before speaking.

"You know, I had this whole elaborate revenge fantasy cooked up," she says to the smoke floating to the ceiling. "I didn't think I'd actually do it but as long as the tubby bastard was still alive, I could pretend like I would."

"Lo si-I'm sorry," Lola says softly. Betsy waves her off and reaches into her pocket. Clenched in her white-knuckled fist are NCR bills.

"Here. I owe you, revenge fantasy or not. Take it before I indulge my inner bitch and spoil the moment." Lola nods and reluctantly takes the near worthless money from Betsy. She moves to leave but stops short.

"What happened to you," she says, her voice trailing off. Her brow furrows as she tries to find the right words, and they try to slip from her grasp.

"Yeah? Spit it out," Betsy says.

"You wouldn't let a gunshot wound fester, wade-_would-_you?" Lola asks, hating how she can't say exactly what she wants. Betsy takes another long, deep drag of her cigarette.

"You're a weird one. I'll think about it. LT's been hounding me, anyway," she finally says. Lola nods and makes her way back to the table. Raul stands, and motions her over.

"Let's go for a walk, hija," he says. She nods and follows him away from First Recon, through the crumbling concourse and decaying airport terminal to the cracked parking lot outside.

"What's on your mend-_mind-_Raul?" He sighs, patting her on the shoulder.

"We'll get to me. What about you? You looked pretty shaken, being drenched in blood aside. Wanna tell me what happened?"

"We couldn't take headshots," she says flatly. He chuckles insincerely.

"Well, you could've," he says lightly. "But seriously, what happened? It takes a hell of an effort to do to a man what you did."

"He had me," she says. "I had to get him first."

"Fair enough," he says. Lola looks up at the sky as they walk. The stars stir something deep within her, a loneliness that somehow felt normal.

"I remembered something," she says.

"About you?" Raul asks, taken aback. She nods.

"I think I knew Spanish."

"That all?"

"I," she says, her voice faltering. They reach the end of the parking lot and turn to make their way to the back. "I think I used to cave-_kill-_people."

"Unfortunately, that is unsurprising now-a-days." She shifts uncomfortably, tugging at the sleeve of her army fatigues.

"I think I used to like it," she says quietly. Raul stops in his tracks and she does the same.

"Well," he says nervously. "Do you like it now?"

"I-I don't know," she says.

"Seems like you're improving already. Better than a definite yes, don't you think?" She nods sadly.

"Subject change, please?" she asks a little rougher than she intended. He nods.

"I've been talking to Corporal Sterling," he says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Man, you should hear some of the things he's been through. He used to be a Ranger before the Legion captured him." Her eyes widen.

"And he survived?" she asks, still shaken from her encounter with the Legion in Nipton.

"Yeah."

"What happened?" she asks, genuinely interested. She hadn't had the chance to talk to the man but Raul seemed to get along with him famously. She stops short as she realizes she trusts Raul's judgment. This trust feels new in a way that is different from everything else.

"The Legion tortured him when they captured him. Roughed him up so bad that he had to quit the Rangers. His arms and legs don't work the way they used to," he says, flexing his arm as if to reassure himself it is still functional. "Talking to him got me thinking-here's this guy who has been beat all to hell. He could've retired from the service but instead he signs back on and keeps on trucking." He looks at her as they walk around to the back of the airport.

"You think he did the right thing?" he asks quietly. She laughs softly.

"I ain't the exact person-_exactly the right-_person to ask about right and wrong," she says. "But yeah. Right as rain. More people should be like that." Raul lets out a shaky breath.

"Yeah? You think so, boss? 'Cause I remember a time when people stuck to their duty no matter what," he says, looking up at the sky almost wistfully. Lola sees movement behind him. A soldier, one of the ones she'd seen earlier, looks around before going into what looked like a radio tower. She turns away from him back to Raul-the soldier obviously knew what he was doing.

She wasn't so sure she could say the same for herself.

Raul smiles at her and she finds her mouth moving into a smile in return.

"Let's get back, boss," he says. "I've had enough nostalgia for one night." She nods.

"Se."

"Si," he corrects.

"What?" He laughs, ruffling her hair.

"'Se' is 'to know'. You're getting the idea. We'll get you to speak proper Spanish yet, boss. " She finds that a smile comes to her easier this time.

"Thank you."

* * *

><p>Raul leads her back to the concourse and eyes one of the free bunks that litter the large room. He gives her a sheepish grin.<p>

"I think I'm going to hit the hay, hija. This old man is already worn out." She nods.

"Good no-night," she says. He nods and wanders over to an unoccupied bunk. She makes her way back to the poker table. Everyone else but Boone and one of the snipers, Bitter-Root, seemed to have had the same idea as Raul. The large table looks empty with only two people and its peeling vinyl. Lola looks down at her army fatigues and smiles. Veronica said they had been Boone's idea. She probably ought to thank him. It had been a small kindness on his and Veronica's part, but it meant the world to her. She begins to walk up to the table but Bitter-Root's voice stopped her short.

"What do you mean?" he asks. Boone sighs and, even though his back is to her, she sees his hand reach up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"You saw how she was covered in blood, right?" Lola stiffens and ducks behind a set of lockers that are scattered haphazardly around the concourse. "When I finally got down to her, I thought Cook-Cook had gotten her. He was slumped over her and I'd thought the worst. When I said her name, she looked up at me, eyes all wild and empty. She growled, like an animal, and held his head up like a trophy."

"Sounds crazy," Bitter-Root says, bringing two cigarettes to his mouth and lighting them. He offers one to Boone, who accepts. "But I've seen worse. Heard worse. Done worse."

"Yeah," Boone says, his voice oddly thick. "Me too."

"You worried?" Boone nods and sighs.

"A little. She," he pauses, as if thinking of what to say. "She used to be some courier. She got shot in the head." Bitter-Root whistles lowly, exhaling a puff of smoke.

"She's _that _courier? Damn." Boone nods absently.

"It's like she isn't put back together right," he says finally. "She's like a kid, almost. She tries-I know she does. Works real hard on her speech. Shit, she's worse at talking than I am. But every now and then, when there's fighting, she gets this gleam in her eyes. Wields a pistol like a professional. Goes a little overboard sometimes. And this shit with Cook-Cook," he says, sighing. "I need keep an eye on her."

"If you're worried about her snapping, why not leave?" Bitter-Root asks. Boone shakes his head, putting his cigarette out in the ashtray.

"Not that simple."

"Sounds simple," Lola says, finding her voice. Boone freezes before turning to face her. Bitter-Root regards her coolly, arms crossed and cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Haze," Boone starts, standing up. He tentatively takes a step toward her, approaching her cautiously. He holds his hand out like a person trying to placate a child.

Or a rabid animal.

What she had mistaken for thoughtfulness had in truth been apprehension. He didn't think himself her friend.

He thought himself her keeper.

Rage, like she had felt in Nipton, bubbles to the surface. It burns, painful and searing, consuming all rational thought. She slaps his hand away with a growl. He flexes his fingers and tries again.

"Haze, listen to me," he says, reaching out for her again. He never touched her more than necessary. He was always reluctant. Where Raul would ruffle her hair or pat her shoulder, or Veronica would playfully knock her arms, there was no contact from Boone unless it was to dress a wound. Even then, he kept his hands from fully making contact. His fingertips reach her shoulder and stop, the palm of his hand never touching her.

He was apprehensive because she was defective.

"Don't touch me," she manages to croak out, her hands balled into fists. She takes a step back and he follows her. "I'm an animal. Rabid. Then's-_that's-_what has you so worked up, right?"

"I didn't mean-" he starts, but she doesn't want to hear it. Her hands fist in the front of his shirt and she slams him against the rickety lockers. The action took him by surprise and he grunts. The lockers shake with the force of the impact and the belongings of nameless troopers fall out of the lockers on the other side and shatter. His sunglasses have fallen from his face and she hears them crunch underneath her boot. If he wanted to see an animal, she'd show him one. He hadn't seen her go overboard yet. She'd give him a reason to walk on eggshells. How dare he? How _dare_ he give her the impression that they are friends, that she is normal, when all he really thinks about her is that she is little more than a ravening beast? She'd choke the breath from him, leave him gasping and-

Hands close over hers. They don't pry. They simply sit, covering hers with a strange tenderness.

"Haze," he says. She comes back to herself at his voice again, and sees her hands wrapped around his neck. With a strangled cry she pushes herself away from him, panting and shaking. Tears well up in her eyes but she keeps them from falling down her cheeks. She sees Bitter-Root out of the corner of her eye, pistol in hand. Boone pushes himself away from the lockers to step toward her.

"Come on," he says gently, in a tone of voice that is not kind but apprehensive. The kind of tone that is used to try and sooth a mad brahmin. She shakes her head and turns. Her footsteps echo in the concourse as she runs and she doesn't hear another set following her.

Good.

* * *

><p>Cressida, this is for you. :3<p>

Jeez, this turned out to be a long one! Thank you all for reading and sticking with me through my ridiculously long hiatuses! You guys are the tops! :D


	17. Midnight Musings and Caravan

Chapter Seventeen: Midnight Musings and Caravan

_An insincere and evil friend is more to be feared than a wild beast; a wild beast may wound your body, but an evil friend will wound your mind.-_ Buddha

Lola stops running after the pain in her chest becomes unbearable. She leans against a flimsy metal door, taking in deep and shaky gulps of air. How far did she run? Where is she? She looks up to see a sign proudly proclaiming 'Crimson Caravan Company'. She is so tired and thirsty and doesn't want to see anyone she travels with. Not Raul. Not Veronica. And not Boone. Her face burns with shame and her stomach churns at the thought of the former NCR sniper.

"Sounds familiar," she says to herself before going inside. The residents are getting ready for bed. The ones who don't want to sleep yet are gathered around a campfire, beers in hand and playing cards scattered about and forgotten. A man lazing back against a log that serves as a make-shift bench stretches languidly. He looks at her with a sleepy gaze and rolls over. A moment later he sits up, scrambling to his feet.

"Lola!" She squints, trying to place the man's face. "Lola Haze!"

"Ringo?" she says and he nods vigorously. He stumbles toward her and throws his long, lanky arms around her. She stiffens at the unexpected contact.

"Good to see you," he says, smiling the same goofy smile he had in Goodsprings. His friends around the campfire begin whistling and cheering.

"Show some respect!" he slurs. "This woman saved my life!" Noises of assent and laughter follow his proclamation. Lola overhears some of the caravaneers talking amongst themselves.

"Shit, now that she's here, maybe he'll shut up about her." She flushes, angling her body way from Ringo. His brow furrows as he looks behind her, hands on her shoulders.

"You been travelin' alone?"

"Uh, for right now," she says. "The other members of my grape-_group-_uh," she pauses, unhappily remembering the feeling of Boone's throat underneath her hands. She flexes her fingers in an effort to chase away the memory. "Complicated." He nods and, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, leads her to the campfire.

"You know what you need?" he asks. She shakes her head. "A drink! And a game of Caravan!" She eyes the playing cards in the dirt doubtfully.

"I'm not sure I remember," she says, fingers reaching up to tap her head. "Plus, you always cheat."

"Didn't forget everything," he says cheerfully. "And, ow, my heart. Don't worry. I'll re-teach you, sans cheating." He winks at her. "For the most part." She smiles and it fades just as quickly.

"I shouldn't," she says. She looks back toward the door. "I need to go. I don't know what I was thinking." _I'm dangerous. An animal._ He shakes his head.

"Come on, you just got here," he says. "Just one drink and one game. If you still want to head out after that, I'll let you. Deal?" She nods, sitting down next to him. She shifts in apprehension. Ringo smiles at her and gathers up the cards. He picks up a beer and hands it to her while he shuffles the deck. It's warm in her hand. She pulls a bottle cap out of her pocket and uses it to open the bottle. She deposits both back in her satchel and takes a deep swig. Ringo laughs at the face she makes. She coughs, trying to chase the taste out of her mouth.

"Tastes like piss," she says, eyeing the bottle balefully. He laughs louder, setting the game up.

"We ran out of the good stuff before you showed up," he says by way of an apology. She chuckles, taking another drink. She listens intently as Ringo teaches her how play Caravan. He snickers as she curses.

"How does that even work?" she grumbles as he discards her cards.

"You overloaded your caravan," he replies.

"This game didn't make any sense the last time either," she says.

"Hey, you're getting better at talking!" She looks at him blankly.

"I are-_am?"_ He grins, gathering up the cards.

"Sure are! You could barely string two words together the first time I met you. You seem like you're improving!" Her face falls at that.

"Improving," she says. Ringo notices her change in demeanor.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asks, setting the deck of cards aside. She shakes her head.

"I don't agree," she says. "But time-_thank- _you anyway." She stands, brushing the dirt off of her fatigues. "I should probably go." But she finds that she doesn't want to leave. She isn't looking forward to seeing her friends again, seeing _Boone_ again, and allows Ringo to talk her into staying. His brown eyes are wide as he convinces her. They make him look years younger, and cause an unexpected ache in her chest.

"If you're looking for work, I'm sure Alice has some lined up," he says, standing up and motioning for her to follow him.

"Yeah," she says. She'd left her caps back at McCarran. She didn't much feel like going after them tonight. "That'd be gone-_good._"

"She's kind of a hard-ass," he warns. She nods. "Jesus, you look dead tired. Come on, I'll show you the barracks." Sleep sounded better than anything else she could think of. She follows Ringo into one of the raised shacks that fill the compound.

"This is okay?" she says. He nods.

"Yeah. We bunk travelers all of the time. But I'll keep you a secret so you won't have to pay rent," he says, winking. She nods.

"You're too kind," she mutters. He shrugs, patting her on the shoulder.

"You saved my life. Least I can do." He stares at her for a moment and she fidgets.

"What?" she asks. He shakes his head with a small smile.

"Nothing," he answers, swinging himself onto the top bunk. "Get some sleep, Lola." She nods, falling onto the mattress. How long has it been since she slept in an actual bed? She rolls on her back to stare at the bunk above her. Are her friends all right? Did they manage to get to sleep at McCarran? She sighs, shifting uncomfortably. She doesn't know how badly she hurt Boone, or if he is even all right. It must have been painful to be slammed into the lockers like that. And her hands around his neck wouldn't have been pleasant either. Why hadn't he fought back? A strange ache fills her chest at the thought of the events of the day and she tangles her hands in the fabric of her army fatigues. The fatigues that her friends had given her because her armor became soaked through with blood.

She turns her head to look at the boarded up windows of the shack. She wanted to go back to her friends, but she didn't think she should. It was probably better if they never saw her again. She is-how did Boone put it?-not put back together right. She didn't want to hurt her friends in a fit of irrational anger.

She didn't want to hurt anyone.

"Hey," Ringo says softly from above her. "You okay? You sound kind of restless."

"Just thinking," she answers.

"Don't think too hard. You might hurt yourself," he says. She hisses at that. She didn't expect that to hurt her feelings as much as it did. As if sensing her distress, Ringo quickly adds a 'just kidding!' to the end of his sentence.

"What's got you so worked up?" he asks again, peeking his head over the top bunk to look down at her. He looks like a child and she feels a wave of nostalgia she can't place wash over her. She reaches for the source but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared, leaving only a name in its wake.

"Nothing, Matty," she says. He tilts his head and she realizes her mistake. "_Ringo._"

"I see. You remember anything about yourself?"

"It comes and goes," she mutters. "I haven't learned airplane-_anything-_that I'm particularly fond of." He nods, and his face vanishes as he rolls back onto his bunk.

"Lola?" he says.

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you showed up tonight," he says. "It's been good to see you. Good to have friends."

"Yeah," she says half-heartedly.

It'd be better if she could trust herself around _anyone, _let alone her friends.

* * *

><p>The next morning Ringo leads her to the Crimson Caravan's offices. When the door opens, she is stunned by how much cooler it is inside the building than it is outside. Ceiling fans whirl so fast that Lola is afraid they may come apart.<p>

"Hey, Ms. McLaffarty," Ringo calls. "I've got someone who wants to talk to you." An aging woman in a stark business suit looks up from a desk. Her gaze is sharp, underlying a fierce intelligence that speaks of years of experience.

"Oh?" she says. "And why don't you let her talk for herself, Ringo?" Ringo winces, mouthing a 'sorry' to Lola. She shakes her head and takes a deep breath.

"I'd like some wall-_work,_" she states.

"I'm sure you do," McLaffarty says. "But why should I hire you? What skills do you have that I could possibly find useful? You did just wander in from the wasteland."

"Come on, Alice," Ringo says. "She has legs, doesn't she?"

"I'm a courier," Lola offers. "Good at stomping-_staying-_hidden. Discreet, since I'm bald-_bad-_at talking."Good at killing people too, but Lola leaves that little tidbit out. Alice rubs her chin thoughtfully before organizing the papers on her desk.

"Just so happens I could use someone with your skill set," she says and Ringo flashes Lola a grin. "I need to know that you're reliable first." Lola nods. Alice motions her over with a small slip of paper. Lola walks over the creaking floorboards to Alice's desk and takes it from her. She squints, struggling to make sense of the words written on the piece of paper.

"OSI?" she asks slowly. Alice nods.

"This is an invoice that I need delivered to Dr. Hildern at Camp McCarran."

"McCarran?" Lola asks, her spirits falling. She hadn't wanted to make her way back to the army base so soon, not while there was still a chance she could run into her friends. Alice raises an eyebrow.

"Is that a problem?" Lola looks at Ringo, and he mouths 'you ok?' She nods, turning back to Alice.

"No. No problem," she says. As an afterthought, she adds, "Ma'am." Alice nods, leaning back in her seat.

"Good. Return here once you've delivered the invoice and I'll have more substantial work for you." Lola nods, turning to walk out of the building. The invoice is clenched tightly in her fist. Ringo follows her. Once they are outside, he asks,

"What's your beef with McCarran? Our soldier boys can get might ornery, but they mean well. Most of the time." Lola sighs.

"My friends," she says. She gestures with her hands helplessly. _She'd choke the breath from him, leave him gasping and- "_Fought."

"Ah. You got into an argument with your friends," he says knowingly. She nods glumly, leaving Ringo to his explanation. She is ashamed of herself. "Look Lola, they're your friends, right? I'm sure they'll forgive you, no matter how stupid you acted."

"Yeah," she says, not really believing the words to be true.

* * *

><p>Camp McCarran looms over Lola like a tombstone. She steels her resolve before entering the camp through the flimsy steel doors. Soldiers milling about the parking lot give her distrusting looks and Lola wonders why they don't just shoot at her. They look like they'd love to.<p>

She stiffly makes her way to the repurposed airport terminal, keeping an eye out for anyone she recognizes. She doesn't see any members of her group and tries not to focus on how disappointment seems to overshadow gratitude. She stops a soldier, who looks at her nervously, and quietly asks where Dr. Hildern is.

"You gonna kill him?" he asks shakily. She shakes her head, reaching into her pocket. The soldier jumps back with a yelp, his hand shooting toward his pistol.

"Invoice," she says, showing him the piece of paper. "Crimson Caravan. Ask McClafferty." He eyes it as though it will bite him. He points to an easily missed door tucked underneath a set of stairs.

"Please don't hurt anyone, ma'am," he squeaks. She shakes her head.

"I won't," she says. She wants to reassure that he doesn't have to be afraid. That she is safe and normal. That she won't hurt anyone. But she can't find the words to convince him because she can't even convince herself of these things. So she leaves the sentiments unspoken and makes her way to Dr. Hildern.

He is a stern looking man in a battered lab coat. Dark bags accent the fierce and unnerving light in his eyes. When he sees Lola walk past his nervous looking assistant, he speaks as though she is hired help.

"Ah, yes! You're here about Vault 22, aren't you?"

"No," she says. She holds the invoice out. She wants to leave as quickly as she can. "Crimson Caravan." He smiles almost fondly as he takes the paper from her.

"Ah yes. Alice. I'll see that she gets paid right away. She runs a tight ship. I find it an admirable quality." Lola nods, turning to leave. "If that's all, then go on then."

"Gladly," she mutters, ready to once and for all leave McCarran behind. She doesn't see any sight of her friends as she leaves the airport terminal. Good. It'll be better for them if she leaves them.

She won't hurt anyone else.

"Hey," a familiar voice calls.


	18. Hurricane Drunk

Chapter Eighteen: Hurricane Drunk

_Always do sober what you said you'd do drunk-that'll teach you to keep your mouth shut.-Ernest Hemingway_

Bitter-Root stands, smoking a cigarette and making her uncomfortable underneath his scrutiny.

"You looking for Boone?" he asks. She averts her eyes away from him.

"No," she answers, turning to leave. "'Fraid not." Lola hears the crunch of a cigarette butt underneath his boot as he steps toward her.

"How about the ghoul and the girl? You looking for them?"

"No," she says, fighting off a wave of sadness that threatens to drown her.

"Well, they're looking for you," he says. "All of them. Left a couple of hours after you did." The news surprised her.

"Looking for me?" Bitter-Root nods. She grits her teeth. "Why?" He shrugs, lighting another cigarette.

"No idea," he says, taking a drag. He offers it to her and she gingerly takes it from him. "I don't know what you did to earn Boone's loyalty, or theirs for that matter, but I wouldn't treat it lightly. Or throw it aside."

_Hey, you're new in town, right?_

_ 'Bout time you showed up._

_ Thanks for taking a chance on a girl from California with stars in her eyes and a pneumatic gauntlet on her fist._

"I," she says, her voice trailing off. "I'm dangerous." Bitter-Root snorts.

"Welcome to the fucking club, sister," he says. "We've all done things we aren't proud of. Anyone who says otherwise is either lying or selling something."

_Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool-_

"No more," she murmurs, holding a hand up to her head. There are so many words flying around in her brain. She can't make sense of all of them. And she doesn't want to remember. So far, the memories have caused nothing but pain. But she can't shake the memories that haunt her mind, can't shake the words she can't make sense of and she can't shake the knowledge that lays coiled deep within her muscles. Her hands flex, feeling empty, and she can't banish the many, many ways her hands know how to kill. Bitter-root looks at her cautiously and she catches his gaze.

"Not put back together wet-_right,"_ she says. "I can't even remember my real name." He laughs, shaking his head.

"You think Bitter-Root is the name I was born with?" he asks. "I had to take it for myself."

"How?" she asks. His brow knits together and his voice takes on a deeper tone.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to cause more trouble," he says. "But seeing as how you took a bullet to the brain, I'm going to err on the side of optimistic and say that isn't the case. You really don't know?" She shakes her head. "Well, hell."

"I didn't mean," she says, searching for the right word. _Uncomfortable? _Bitter-Root sighs, shifting uneasily.

"I know you didn't," he says. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "It's a Khan name. You know, the Great Khans?" She shakes her head. "It's what my parents were. I figured I grew up around the bastards. They owed me a name after everything they put me through."

"What happened to your parents?"

"Got themselves killed at Bitter Springs. Served them right, if you ask me." At her blank look, he asks, "Do you remember Bitter Springs?" She thinks, and then slowly shakes her head.

"No. Is that way-_where_ you got your name?" He nods.

"In the Khans, you're not fully grown until you've taken a beat-down. Everyone gathers around and hits you until you're damned near dead. After that-if you haven't begged for mercy, you get to choose a new name. One that you'll use for the rest of your life. When NCR slaughtered the Khans at Bitter Springs, I hadn't gotten my beat-down yet. I was still too young. The way I see it, Bitter Springs _was _my beat-down." She stares at him, trying to understand his words. He shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"Look," he says again. "Don't put much stock in a name given to you by people you may or may not remember. And, as for 'not being put back together right'-you know what you told Betsy, right? This is just a wound for you to treat, like any other. There's a Followers doctor outside of Vegas, Doc Usanagi. She isn't a miracle worker, but she helps." Hesitation lines his voice as though he were talking about things better left unsaid.

"Why?" she asks. "Why tell me all of this?" He shrugs, pushing himself off of the wall to the old McCarran airport.

"Boone is a friend, and you obviously mean something to him," he says. "I don't know why. But, the way I figure it, if he thinks you're important then you must be. Guy has a habit of beating himself to death over things." Before she can ask him to elaborate, he vanishes and she is left stuttering to a shadow.

She shakes her head and runs a hand through her hair. She feels her bullet scars underneath her fingertips. Doc Mitchell had done the best he could but whenever she looks at herself she could see where the bullets had entered. She could see the extensive reconstruction the good doctor had to do and it reminds her of fractured mirror. She could still make out what she looked like, she still looked normal, but there were vine-thin cracks along the glass. There were angles that didn't look quite right and features that didn't match up. Pieces were missing, in more ways than one, and it showed.

"Lola!" a familiar voice calls. She looks up to see Veronica waving furiously, Raul and Boone trailing behind her. Her heart flips in her chest. She fights the instinct to turn and flee, instead holding a hand up in greeting.

"Veronica," she says. The girl slides to a stop in front of her.

"Where have you been? We've been looking all over for you!" she asks. Lola rubs the back of her neck, ignoring the worried stares from Veronica and Raul. She sees Boone behind the two of them. His gaze is undecipherable behind his sunglasses but she can feel his eyes on her just the same.

He didn't tell them anything and she doesn't know why.

"Crimson Caravan," she finally manages to stutter out. "Friend there gone-_got_ me some work."

"What kind?" Veronica asks. "No more chopping off heads, I hope?" Lola winces.

"No," she answers. "Just some courier work."

"Oooh, traveling!" Veronica says, pumping a fist up in the air. "You want some company, stranger?" Lola looks between her friends with altering feelings of fear and loneliness threatening to bubble over.

_I'm dangerous._

_ They're my friends._

_I'm a killer._

_I'm a courier._

_ I'm not put back together right._

_ I don't want to be alone._

"Yeah," she says, past the tightness in her throat. "I'd love some companion -_company_ if you're willing to take me." Veronica nods excitedly, asking about their next destination. Raul seems to relax, all of the tension going out of his shoulders. She keeps her eyes on Boone. He gives her a slight nod and she sighs, the fear and apprehension and guilt lingering with that one expulsion of breath.

* * *

><p>The sun rises over the Mojave and the group is far away from Outer Vegas. Lola eyes the contract McLaffarty had given her, not being able to make sense of it. The only thing she understands are the numerous zeros outlining how much the Crimson Caravan is willing to pay for their hopeful addition to their company: Cassidy Caravans.<p>

She smiles as she remembers Cass. The memories are a little fuzzy but if she tries hard enough, she can recall the woman's raspy voice. She had enjoyed spending time with Cass, even if she was a little bitter and tactless. The statute that stands in front of Mojave Outpost looms in the distance and they are close enough to see the meager shade it offers.

"What did you think of Camp McCarran?" Veronica asks. Lola holds back a wince.

"I didn't much care for the place but the people are all right," she says. Veronica nods.

"I didn't really talk to anyone other than First Recon but they seemed like decent people. A little on the rough side but nicer than most!" As an afterthought, she adds, "There were so many soldiers there."

"It's the biggest military base out here," Boone says quietly. "The only place that would have more soldiers is the Dam."

"Yeah, it's no wonder we couldn't hold Helios One," Veronica says and Boone stiffens slightly. She takes notice and says, "Relax. I'm not bitter, and I don't have any elaborate revenge fantasies planned. So you can sleep easy. Although, no promises on not stealing your hat." Boone makes a face that is somewhere between disgruntled and amused before taking a few steps back from Veronica.

"The Dam and McCarran have a bunch of youngsters that don't know what the hell they're doing crammed together like sardines," Raul says. "If the NCR doesn't start winning some battles, things could get real ugly real fast."

"At least they go out," Veronica says. "They throw themselves into the fray, trying to fix problems instead of just letting them sit. You can't get experience if you just let the problems of the wasteland past you by." She rummages in her back for a bottle of water, twisting the top off and taking a sip.

"This sounds personal," Lola comments. Veronica shrugs, bringing the bottle from her lips and offering it to Lola.

"In a way," she says with a sigh. "The major problem with the Brotherhood is that we isolate ourselves. Our training is top-notch, our technology gives us an advantage but when it comes right down to it we're losing because we shun the world. At least the NCR loses on their own terms." Boone makes a strangled noise at that and Veronica gives him a sheepish 'sorry!' in response. "We always make enemies, never allies. We refuse to recruit outsiders, dwindling our number as a result. And we refuse to see the value in simpler technologies. It's all power armor and plasma rifles with us."

"Why don't you do something about it?" Lola asks.

"I don't know," she says. "Not that simple, I guess. I'm still trying to figure out how we could survive. It seems like we've taken our isolation and made it a part of ourselves."

"Is the entire Brotherhood this way? Maybe you could gone-_get _some ideas from someone else?" Lola offers.

"Well, there is a chapter that branched off back east," Veronica says thoughtfully as the group makes their way past the ancient husks of downed motor vehicles. "Rumor is they had a small civil war over it." Lola snorts water through her nose.

"A _small _civil war?" she says, images of giant robots and men with laser rifles floating through her mind. Veronica gives her a careless half-smile as they enter the gates of the Outpost. Boone takes an abrupt turn up the rickety planks that lead up to the roof of the barracks.

"Where ya going, beret?" Veronica asks.

"Gonna put myself to good use," Boone says gruffly. "See if they need a sniper for a night or two."

"Ghost is here," Lola says, happy she can remember the woman. She tries to remember what Cass had said about her. "She can shoot the dick off a bloatfly." Veronica snorts and Raul groans something in Spanish that Lola just barely catches. Boone's lips crack into a faint smile.

"I'm familiar," he says. "I'm going to see if she needs a break. Let me know about the caravan." He disappears from sight and leaves Lola staring where he had stood. She shakes her head and enters the barracks.

Cass sits where she did the last time Lola had come to the Outpost. It was like she hadn't moved since she had last been here. She lifts her head groggily to look at Lola.

"Well, well," she says. "Look what rolled in. You got a hankering for trouble?" She pours herself off of the barstool to stumble toward Lola, fists clenched. Lola hears the crack of Veronica's power fist as she flexes her fingers in it.

"We've got your back," she says. Lola shakes her head. Cass stumbles into her and Lola wraps an arm around her shoulders to steady her.

"Cass," she says warmly. "How are you doing?"

"No worse for wear," Cass replies, pulling the other woman toward the bar. She can hear Veronica and Raul sigh in relief behind her. "What're you doing back here? I thought you were on your way to Vegas."

"I got work with the Crimson Cavern-_Caravan-_like you suggested," she says.

"Oh? And what did those pencil pushers send you all the way out here for?" Cass asks, motioning for Lacey to bring her some shot glasses.

"You," Lola answers, handing her the contract McLafferty drafted.

"More specifically, you're here for my caravan," Cass says as she reads the paper. Her eyes get hard and she hands it back. "Do they know it's burned to ash?"

"I-" Lola begins but Cass cuts her off.

"You know what, fuck it. I don't want to hear your answer. Cassidy Caravans doesn't exist anymore. Tell McLafferty to kiss my ass." She moodily pours whiskey in three shot glasses, sliding one over to Lola and the other to Raul. She gives Veronica a searching look.

"Lacey, get a Nuka Cola for the kid," she says.

"Ooh, my favorite!" Veronica chirps.

"And that's it?" Lola asks.

"That's an awful lot of money you're turning down," Raul says, taking a sip of whiskey. "Did you get a good look at the contract?"

"Yeah, I saw the zeros," Cass says. "And I know they're good for them. But even with times being what they are, I don't think I can sell." She downs her whiskey in one loud gulp. "Dad would spin like a twister if he found out I sold my name-_our name-_for anything."

"You really want to stay here?" Lola says, gesturing to the barracks. "You sole-_sell -_your caravan, you walk." Cass chuckles.

"You're shit with words, kid," she says. Lola ignores the way that stings. _You're improving._ "No. I made the caravan what it is. It's _mine._ And, hell, there are worse places than the Outpost to drink myself to death." Lola stares down at her untouched shot of whiskey, watching her reflection ripple in the liquid. She wanted more than a 'job well done' from McLafferty. She didn't want Cass to waste away here, didn't _want_ her to drink herself to death in some dusty corner of the Mojave.

"I can't talk," she says. "But actions speak louder."

"Go on," Cass says with a dramatic flourish of her hand, pouring another shot of whiskey for herself.

"I'll drink you for it." Raul chokes on his whiskey and Veronica swallows her cola with a loud gulp. Cass laughs loudly and it startles some of the more exhausted troopers.

"Hell, kid, you look like a pansy! You sure you're old enough to drink?"

"You have a head start," Lola says. "Say the word and you can break-_back-_out." Cass thumps her fist on the bar counter.

"Lacey! Bring me all the whiskey this shithouse has!" Lacey rolls her eyes.

"You mean all the whiskey you haven't drunk yet?"

* * *

><p>"Oooooh, party foul!" Veronica cheers as Cass slumps over the bar. Raul gives her a strange look.<p>

"I thought you were just drinking Nuka Cola," he says. She shrugs, taking a sip of her soda.

"Just trying to get into the spirit of things." Lola laughs, swaying in her stool before falling to the ground. The cold feel of wood is jarring against her body.

"Hahaha, ow," she says as she hears Raul stand from his seat. "Shit."

"Up you go, hija," he says, wrapping an arm around her waist. She pulls herself up using his arm as a support.

"Gracias, Raul."

"Christ, your accent is worse when you're drunk," he says. She laughs.

"Grassy ass. Gross-i-as."

"Just stop." She stumbles away from him to support herself on the bar. She watches the way the grain in the wood dances before making her way to Cass.

"Come on, Cass," she sings. "Gotta get you to bed."

"You bitch," Cass grumbles, slurring the words so badly that Lola can barely understand them. "I can't believe you out drank me."

"Guess that means you lost," she says, hiccupping.

"Just wait." Veronica walks to the other side of Cass and Raul hovers by Lola. Together they manage to keep Lola from falling over and get Cass to bed. She groans, rubbing her face against the pillow.

"Come back when the world stops spinning, okay kid?"

"Si, el capitan!" Lola says with a clumsy mock salute. Raul groans match Cass' as she asks,

"The fuck you sayin'?" Lola turns, trying to balance on one foot to see if she can. Raul puts his hands on her shoulders to steady her. Veronica shakes her head.

"You are going to be SO hungover."

"Come on, boss. Let's get you to bed."

"Not tired," she says. "I have to tell Boone about the caravan."

"I'm sure it can wait," Raul says but Lola shakes her head.

"I have to tell him I'm sorry too." The old ghoul tilts his head but ends up walking her to the door anyway.

"All right. If it's that important."

"It is."

* * *

><p>Chapter Eighteen-in which mood whiplash occurs because I write a 3,000 word love letter to Cass and Veronica.<p> 


	19. Gratia Plena

Chapter Nineteen: Gratia Plena

_If people are good only because they fear punishment, and hope for reward, then we are a sorry lot indeed_.-Albert Einstien

Lola stumbles up the ramp to the roof of the barracks with a hand against the wall to support herself. The aged concrete is still warm from the sun even though it has been nighttime for hours. She reaches the top of the building, stumbling as she leaves the support of the wall. Boone sits in Ghost's spot and Lola has to do a double take, forgetting for a moment that he is covering Ghost's shift. His feet are propped up on the table and in his hands is a ragged and complicated looking book. His eyes are not on the pages when she makes her way up but rather on the smoke that still burns in the distance, even after all of this time.

"Hey," he says, not turning around. "How'd the negotiation go?"

"How'd you know it was me?" she asks.

"Footsteps," he answers. He inhales deeply. "You've been drinking?"

"A little," she says with a slur. He pulls his feet off of the table to sit up."It's-uh-how I wane-_won._"

"Won?" he asks, setting his book down on the table where his feet had been. "Won what?"

"The caravan!" she hiccups. "I drank Cass over the table."

"Under," he corrects gently, and she nods vigorously. "If that's the case, I don't see how you're still walking around. I've heard stories about her tolerance." She walks to the edge of the roof and teeters underneath Boone's watchful eye.

"I'm thinking about sitting anyway," she says, moving to sit at the edge of the roof. She loses her balance and lets out a sharp gasp. She hovers over the ground with the balls of her feet balanced over the edge. Her hat floats to the ground. She looks over her shoulder to see Boone standing there with his hand fisted in the back of her shirt, holding her over the edge. She hadn't even seen him move.

"Easy does it," he says, pulling her back. She sits down on the roof with a hard plop.

"Boone," she says, unsure of how to start. He moves back to his seat, leaning his elbows on his knees. He's waits quietly as she composes herself and thinks of how to say what she wants to say. She coughs, swearing before continuing. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Don't need you busting your head open. Wouldn't do any good," he says with a weak smile. She falls back to lie down and look at the stars that dance around her vision like the words dance around in her head.

"No," she says, shaking her head. "Not just for that. F-for everything. I," and at this she exhales. It's more of a frustrated breath than anything else. "I'm sorry. For McCarran. I," she says, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead. "I'm leaving tomorrow and heading to the Strip away-_alone_. I wanted to thank you for traveling with me. And," her voice trails off as he shakes his head.

"Not a good idea," he says.

"It's not a gate-_good-_idea to stay," she argues. "I almost _killed _you-"

"You're not that strong."

"_Not the peak,"_ she hisses, pushing herself up on her elbow.

"Point."

"Stop it! I'm dangerous, a killer! I," she pauses, thinking of the words, the right words. "I can't remember many things about how-_who-_I am. But with every little thing I can clasp-_grasp_- I get the feeling that I used to be awful. That I am awful. And you deserve a better friend than I can make-_manage._ You all do." He leaves his seat again to sit next to her. She turns her head to look at him and her eyes drift from his face to the book he holds clenched in his hand.

"We went to the Crimson Caravan to look for you," he says. "Met your friend Ringo."

"Yeah?" she says, turning the book over to look at the cover.

"Yeah. Said he saw you and you seemed down about McCarran." He sighs, taking off his beret to rub at the peach fuzz on his head. "Said you missed your friends."

"I did. And I will," she says honestly. "But I'm too unstable."

"Take a look at the book," he says.

"_Stress and the Modern Reader-Refugee: A Primer," _she reads, her finger tracing the words. She looks up at him. "I'm not a refugee."

"There's a chapter in there. Chapter thirteen." She opens the book and begins to look for it but the words are a jumbled mess. Her brow furrows and she makes a soft frustrated noise in the back of her throat. He gently takes the book from her. He opens it and slowly flips through the pages until he finds what he is looking for.

"Here," he says. He holds it out for her to look at and reads the words to her. "'The basics of Traumatic Brain Injury and its Effects on the Patient.'"

"Traumatic Brain Injury," she repeats slowly. "What's that?"

"You getting shot in the head," Boone explains. He sighs, setting the book on his lap and rubbing the back of his neck. "See, those bullets scrambled your brain. And that's where all this trouble comes from."

"I figured as much," she grumbles. "Regardless-" she starts, but Boone holds a hand up to silence her.

"Regardless, it isn't fixable but it's treatable. There are tricks you can learn to improve your condition. But it'll be harder on you if you go it alone."

"What are you saying?" she whispers. He takes off his sunglasses and looks at her. She's always been struck by how old he looks, her eyes drawn to the wrinkles that surround his eyes.

"I'm saying that we should take Hood's-Veronica's-advice and take you to see the Followers of the Apocalypse. They can help with this better than I can. Hell, it's been a struggle to understand as much of this as I have," he says with a soft laugh. "I'm a soldier, not a doctor."

"I can get to the Followers by myself," she says. He shakes his head.

"Haze," he says, clearing his throat. He isn't used to speaking so much. He sighs. "You shouldn't have to. Look, you helped me with something important to me. You helped me bring the monster that sold my wife to justice. I can't ever repay that but I can try. I owe you, Haze."

"You don't-" she starts again but he shakes his head again, holding up a hand to silence her. Hesitantly, he places that hand on her shoulder.

"I do. The least I can do is get you to the Strip and help you get the bastard that did this to you, like you helped me. As for not being a good person," he looks out toward the rising sun and speaks more to himself than to her. "A murderer who does good deeds is still a murderer. We'll get ours eventually. But I'm with you in spite of karma."

"I," she says, her voice trailing off. She looks at the sunrise with him at a loss for words. They don't say anything else. They just sit next to each other and watch the beginning of a new day.

* * *

><p>The road seems more uneven than usual. The sun seems too bright and the air too dry. Lola holds a hand up to her head. She doesn't think it hurt this much even when she got shot. She glares at Cass who saunters by without a care in the world.<p>

"How are you not feeling maker-_miserable_?" she says. Cass laughs a little too loudly and slaps her on the back.

"Practice," she says, taking a drink of whiskey.

"Yeah, it's an old vaquero trick, boss," Raul says. "If you don't quit drinking, then you can't be hungover."

"Bingo, handsome," Cass says, snapping and pointing her finger at him like a gun. Lola groans, rubbing her temples.

"You aren't willing to share, are you?"

"Nope," Cass says, taking another deep gulp of whiskey. Veronica laughs, patting Lola on the back.

"Here," she says, offering her a drink of Nuka Cola. "Caffeine will help clear your head." Lola thanks her and takes a deep swig of the lukewarm soda. She gives Veronica back her drink and she skips off to bombard Cass with questions. Boone walks up next to her and she startles when he speaks.

"Hey," he says, taking off his sunglasses and offering them to her. "These'll help with the headache."

"Don't you need these?" she asks, gratefully taking them. He gives her a small smile that vanishes so fast that she isn't sure he smiled at all.

"You look like you need them more," he answers. "Eye's are all bloodshot. Get any sleep?"

"No," she says, putting on the sunglasses. The world instantly darkens and she sighs blissfully. "You?"

"No," he answers. She doesn't ask why and he finds himself grateful. She simply shrugs.

"We can stop in Primm for some rest," she says. "I've been meaning to drape-_drop_- off these radscorpion poison glands anyway."

"What's she use them for?" Boone asks. Haze grins slyly and says,

"You'll see." He shakes his head. The outline of Primm's rollercoaster rises over the horizon. She looks at her group and wonders if the Bison Steve is open for business. She wouldn't make Ruby and Johnson shack up her group. She doesn't know how it became so large or how she got so many friends. She wasn't likeable, by any stretch of the imagination.

_"He likes me. Everybody likes me."_

_ "You're likable enough. But you have your moments."_

_ "So you don't like me?"_

A boy dances at the edge of her vision, eyes crinkling up into a smile. She reaches out her hand as though she could grasp him but he floats away from her and leaves only a blank memory. She hisses in frustration. He was important, she knew he was, and she couldn't grasp him. She's only been able to get the faintest hints of her past before they leave her as quickly as they had come.

"Hey," Boone's voice breaks into her consciousness, chasing away the last phantom lingering of the boy. "There's a campfire over there. It's big."

"Friendlies?" she asks. He brings his binoculars down from his face and looks at her with a tight expression. "Hostiles?"

"Legion," he says. He looks down the sights of his rifle. "I'm taking the shot."

_"I want you to spread the tale of the lesson I taught here, to fill the hearts of the profligate soldiers with fear, and the knowledge that they will not win against us, for we are legion."_

"No," she says. "Wait, Boone, ple-" The crack of his rifle cuts her words short. Her friends scurrying past her to enter the fight and Boone lowers his rifle. His face is drawn tight in anger as he walks over to her.

"I see crimson," he says. "I'm taking the shot. Got it?" She swallows thickly, her heart pounding in her chest and telling her to run, to hide. She nods, drawing her pistol from her holster. He looks at her for a long, intense moment before stalking off to shoot scrambling legionaries from a distant. Raul lingers behind to wait for her.

"You okay?" he asks quietly. "You're a little pale."

"F-fine," she says. _Seemingly hundreds of them crawl out of the wood work. She runs past the church, her heart pounding in her chest. She can't find them, can't find anyone that isn't being run through. The church is burning, the people trapped inside wailing toward God like a parody of Sunday Mass-_

"Lola," Raul says, his hand shaking her shoulder bringing her back. "Lola!" She shakes her head hard enough to spatter spots across her vision.

"Fine," she repeats. "I'm fine." The old ghoul watches her for a moment, his eyes roaming over her face. She wipes sweat off of her brow and, taking a deep breath to calm herself, strides purposefully past him. She sees Cass and Veronica taking out swathes of legionaries. The ones that run are the ones that Boone shoots. They fall-_thud, thud, thud-_and there is no way they could have ever run fast enough. Lola sees a group of people unmoving in the middle of the chaos. Their hands are tied behind their backs and there is a single legionary running them through with his machete. Lola aims her gun, looking down the shaky sights, and pulls the trigger. The first bullet catches him in the shoulder and he drops his weapon. He sees her and charges, eyes full of rage like a mad animal.

"True to Caesar!" he bellows, and she shoots him between the eyes. She moves toward the group of prisoners-a dim part in the back of her brain labels them slaves-and begins untying their bonds. When she gets two of them untied, they begin to free the rest and she goes to the old man that had just been run through.

He is still alive, but only barely. His breathing comes in fitful spurts and his blood leaks out onto the Mojave dirt. She kneels down, checking the edges of his wound.

There is no way to save him.

"Sister," he croaks. "Sister, please. Give me absolution. Please-"

"Shh," she says, brushing sweat away from his forehead.

"I've done-I'm-" he chokes. "Please pray for me."

"I don't know any prayers," she says forlornly.

"Please."

"I don't-" he coughs, blood splattering over her shirt and staining it through. She inhales and the memory of a honey mesquite tree briefly flashes across her mind. "Ave Maria, gratia plena. Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus-" The man's breathing stops and her voice falls quiet. She stares down at him and goes to move him. A hand tangles in the back of her shirt and pulls her up. She looks up to see Boone's face and his eyes are livid. She doesn't think she's ever seen such emotion on his face.

"That was Latin," he growls. "Why were you speaking Latin?"


	20. Synesthesia

Chapter Twenty: Synesthesia

_I can only wait for the final amnesia, the one that can erase an entire life. –_Luis Bunuel

"Prayers," she croaks past a dry throat. "He asked for prayers."

"And you prayed in Latin?" He turns her around to face him, his hands gripping her arms painfully. The fury in his eyes makes her throat dry. It's a familiar look but it seems somehow wrong on him.

"It's what I cave-_could-_remember," she says, her heart pounding against her chest.

"You remembered it?" he says, his voice tinged at the edges with white-hot anger. She nods as his grip becomes tighter.

"Let go of me," she says dangerously, suppressing the urge to fight, to maim. _He's your friend, _she tells herself even as her hands clench and unclench into fists.

"Context clues, meathead," Raul says, stepping forward to intervene. "She said 'Ave Maria-"

"Stay out of this," Boone snaps. Cass and Veronica watch them warily, hands still holding their weapons in case the fight isn't over. The newly freed slaves clutch each other, unsure whether to stay or flee.

"Don't talk to him that way."

"Are you Legion?" he demands, shaking her. The question almost seems to cause him physical pain as he grounds it out again between clenched teeth. "_Are you Legion?_" Her heart pounds furiously against her chest at the question and her mouth becomes dry. Beads of sweat roll down her arms to her palms and she fights another urge-this time to run.

_Call me Legion, for we are many-_

_ "I'll keep you safe. I promise. Caesar will give you to me. Just come with me."_

_ The fires consume everything in their path and devour her home like a gluttonous beast-_

"_This is a coin, as payment for the ferryman-"_

_ "MATTY!"_

"No!" she roars, pushing him from her. He stumbles back with a grunt. "_I am not Legion!"_ They stare at each other from across the bloody wasteland dirt and her chest heaves with the effort of not attacking him. Her hands itch, her mind urging her to hurt, to _kill_. Boone stands with his arms crossed, jaw clenched and his eyes hard with anger and mistrust. She shakes her head.

"I do not serve Caesar," she says shakily past chaffed lips. Boone stares at her long and hard as though he is trying to see through a lie. Finally, he sighs, gripping the bridge of his nose.

"Fine," he says. "I believe you." She realizes her teeth are bared in a snarl and she composes herself, closing her lips over her teeth. She nods, crossing her arms to keep them from grabbing him.

"Good," she growls out.

"But know that I will not work for a dog of the Legion," he says, pointing his finger at her. "Just so we're clear as to where your loyalties lie."

"Crystal." Boone turns to walk off, the tense set of shoulders hard against the setting sun.

"And that's it?" Raul demands.

"Let it go, Raul," she says wearily. He shakes his head.

"No. No, I won't! Do you know what 'Ave Maria' even means, meathead?"

"Don't care," Boone growls out but Raul cuts him off.

"'Hail Mary. _Hail_ _Mary. _Do you really think the Legion would honor a woman?"

"What do you want from me, old man?" Boone asks, his voice quiet and too weary to keep arguing.

"I think you owe her an apology," he says evenly. Boone opens his mouth but Lola shakes her head.

"No," she says, echoing the words of their earlier conversation. "You don't owe me noth-_anything."_

Silence is the group's only conversation the rest of the way to Primm.

* * *

><p>"Hello, dear!" Ruby's voice greets Lola and her words are the first spoken in hours. Lola gives her a weak smile as the older woman pulls her into a hug.<p>

"Hello, Ruby," she says. "I have some poison gleans-_glands-_for you." Ruby cups her cheeks fondly.

"You look exhausted, dear," she says. Her eyes drift over her shoulder to look at the rest of her group. "Oh! I see you've found some friends!" Veronica waves cheerfully and Ruby moves toward them, ushering them all inside. She and Raul strike up easy conversation. Cass nods to Johnson as he looks over some delivery orders and he gives her a slight nod in return. Lola pulls her pack off of her back and begins to unload the radscorpion poison glands she had collected. Boone, unable to stand the almost claustrophobic space crammed with people, excuses himself and goes outside.

Ruby excitedly gathers up the poison glands and begins to make her famous (or infamous, depending on who you asked) casserole.

"Would you like some, dear?" Ruby calls. Lola nods.

"Yes ma'am," she says.

"You _eat_ that stuff?" Cass asks, eyeing Ruby bustling around the stove warily.

"It's good," she says. "You want any?" Cass gives her a dubious look.

"I'll stick to my whiskey, thanks." Lola shrugs.

"More for me," she says. Veronica catches the robot lying on the table out of the corner of her eye and squeaks in delight. She tugs on Raul's sleeve and points it out to the other ghoul. He smiles at her almost indulgently as she begins speaking in quick and complicated technical terms that Lola can't even begin to comprehend. Her hands are all over the place, gesturing every which way and Lola feels a smile creeping across her face at the other woman's enthusiasm.

"Go on and fix it if you're able," Johnson says. Veronica's resulting squeal is ear-splitting and she all but drags Raul over to the table to fix it. Lola has stopped being able to follow their conversation but still listens, picking words she understands out of the technical jargon and follows the tones their voices take. She closes her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall and eventually just lets the sounds roll through her brain. There's a familiar pain behind her eyelids, a building pressure, and she lets out a shaky breath. She opens her eyes to the single weak electric light bulb that hangs from the Nash's ceiling.

"I'm going to go outside," she says to no one in particular. Cass gives her a nod of acknowledgement and goes back to watching Raul and Veronica dismantle the robot and put it back together again. She sighs, rubbing her temples. Her head hurts and she tries to force the sensation away. She looks up at a slowly darkening sky and walks to the blown out building across the street from the Nash's. She makes her way up the stairs and to the blasted remains of a window. She sits down, legs dangling over the edge. A curse flies from her lips when she pats her pockets searching for cigarettes and realizes there are none to be found. She sighs, eyes rolling up to look at the sky.

"Perfect," she says to no one. So she's surprised when she gets an answer.

"Out of smokes?" a gruff voice asks.

"Yeah," she answers, leaning back on her hands. "You got any to space-_spare_?" Boone nods, crouching down to sit. He sits arms length from her, and has to lean over to hand her a cigarette. She brings it to her mouth and pats her pockets for a lighter. She pulls Benny's lighter from her pocket and lights the cigarette.

"Thanks," she says with it still between her lips. He nods and she hands him the lighter. She exhales, tracing the pattern of the smoke with her eyes. They sit together in an uneasy silence, smoking cigarettes and keeping their eyes toward the setting sun. Lola watches the cherry at the end of her cigarette get bigger and brighter against the backdrop of the setting sun. A voice so quiet she almost didn't hear it breaks the silence.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she answers and can hear the sigh of relief from her companion's lips. "My head is killing me, but yeah." He nods again, exhaling a puff of smoke. "You?"

"Fine," he says. "I'm fine. And I'm sorry. For earlier."

"No you're not," she says easily. The rage she had felt at his early actions has all but vanished, leaving weariness in its place. "You were ready to shoot me." Boone flinches. After a moment, he answers quietly,

"Yeah. I was. You know why."

"I know why," she says. "But not anything-_everything._" He stiffens and the cigarette dangles from his lips.

"No," he says. "You don't. Its better that way."

"Boone," she says, her voice echoing in her ears. "What happened to your wife? Really?"

"Drop it," he says.

"There has to be a reason you haven't gone over-_after_ her," she insists. "Why you hate the Legion so much."

"She's dead," he says curtly.

"You can't know that. She could still be-" His hand reaches out and she winces, afraid he is going to slap her. But he simply places his fingers against her lips to silence her.

"Stop," he says and underlying his voice is a soft pleading. She nods, swallowing thickly. He takes on last drag of his cigarette before standing. He drops it to the ground and snuffs it out underneath his boot. He turns to leave but her voice makes him pause in his tracks.

"Boone," she says and suddenly she sounds very small. "Why didn't you shoot me back at the slave camp?" He sighs, hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I believed you," he answers. "I believed the fear in your voice. The Legion terrifies you, don't they?" She swallows audibly and looks up toward the sky.

"Some words isn't-_aren't-_just words to me," she says softly. "Some have something else attached."

"Like what?"

"'Ave Maria," she says and he grits his teeth. "Reminds me of honey mesquite. So much that I can smell it. And your name, Boone-I can hear gunshots in my ears whenever I hear it."

"And Legion?" he almost growls the word. "What does that bring to mind?"

"Fire," she says, ashing her cigarette. The cherry falls off the end and floats to the ground, burning brightly on the way down. "All it brings to mind is fire."

* * *

><p>"Ta-da!" Veronica says, grinning from ear to ear. The robot that had lay broken and abandoned on Johnson Nash's table floats above her head, chirping almost happily.<p>

"It's a floating tin-can," Boone says. Veronica's face falls slightly at his words and Raul glares heatedly at him from behind her. Lola knocks into him with her shoulder.

"Don't be an asshole," she says. "It's wonderful, Veronica." Her grin comes back although not as big as it had been.

"You like him? His name is ED-E."

"Eddie?" she says, tilting her head. "Why'd you name it that?" Veronica points at a bent piece of metal that proudly proclaims 'Nevada: ED-E.'

"It's what used to be a 'license plate'," Veronica explains, complete with finger quotations. "They used to be on motor vehicles."

"Those big metal skeletal things?" Lola asks, circling around the robot. A sticker on the side labels the robot as 'an honor student at Roosevelt Academy'. The words don't mean anything to her. Veronica nods vigorously.

"What does it _do?_" Cass asks, eyeing it.

"All sorts of stuff," Veronica gushes. "It can float. And it can talk-play audio recordings and take video. Play the radio. And it has a laser!"

"It won't go psycho, will it?" Cass asks. "I'll cut it if it does." The robot-ED-E-makes what sounds like an unhappy chirping noise in response.

"It's fine. _Fine,_" she stresses. The scribe holds up two fingers. "Scout's honor."

"It can come," Lola says. "We could use something that can shoot left- _lasers._"

* * *

><p>They travel for days. The group makes their way across the wasteland, fighting fiends, cazadores and giant geckos.<p>

"Did you know those things used to be small?" Raul says after one particularly heated battle with a pair of them that can breathe fire. He holds his fingers an inch apart and says, "This big."

"I don't believe you," Lola says, laughing and then wincing at the burn she'd acquired.

"I knew a man that big once," Cass says, taking a swig of whiskey. "And I'm not talking about how tall he was."

"Gross!" Veronica says with a laugh. ED-E chirps, floating around Veronica's head. Lola looks around as tall and ruined buildings begin to take shape around them. The color has faded from them but she can still make it out by the great expanses of chipped paint that cover the ruined buildings. Signs from a different time glitter underneath the sun off in the distance.

"Where are we?" she asks. "I don't tank-_think_-I've been here before."

"We're outside of Freeside," Boone answers, hand adjusting his beret in an almost defiant fashion. "The gate to the Strip is through the slums." Lola looks around as the make their way toward a flickering neon sign that proclaims 'Freeside' to anyone that happens to pass by. A man dressed in a leather jacket and an odd hairstyle scowls at them as they walk through the gate under it.

Rubble from nearly two centuries ago lies abandoned in the street as though no one had ever bothered to clean it. Dirty children run by them, all skin and bones with rags hanging off of them, chasing a giant rat. Lola pulls out her pistol and, out of pity, shoots the rat through the back of the head. Ravenous, the children descend upon it and begin ripping it apart.

"Thanks lady!" one of them says through a mouthful of blood.

"Doesn't seem very free," she says. "Seems awful."

"There are worst places to live," Cass says, shaking her head and fishing through her pack for some food rations. "You mind?" Lola and the rest of the group shake their heads and Cass goes to the children, handing out boxes of Pre-War food.

"There's something here. That place," Lola says. "The one Veronica mentioned?"

"Followers of the Apocalypse!" Veronica pipes up. She gestures to a sturdy, if worn, building to the left of them. "Their base of operations is right there at the Old Mormon Fort." Lola eyes the building critically, holstering her pistol and crossing her arms.

"They can help me?" Veronica nods enthusiastically.

"They're great! Come on, let's go meet them!" Lola looks at the Old Mormon Fort again apprehensively. Could they really help her? Her eyes drift over to Boone, who stands with his arms crossed and a stoic expression on his face. When he catches her gaze, he nods and forces a smile. It seems to pull his face into a grimace but she smiles back, appreciating the thought all the same. Inhaling deeply, she moves her eyes back to Veronica and nods.

There is only one way to find out.


	21. Cause I'm Evil

Chapter Twenty-one: 'Cause I'm Evil

_I've never looked for trouble  
>But I've never ran<br>I don't take no orders  
>From no kind of man<br>I'm only made out  
>Of flesh, blood and bone<br>But if you're gonna start a rumble  
>Don't you try it on alone<em>

Elvis Presley, _Trouble _(1958)

Crying and screaming echoes throughout the Old Mormon Fort. The smell of old blood and stale urine permeates the air, causing Lola to take shallower breaths in an effort to avoid the smell. A frazzled looking woman with a large green Mohawk running from tent to tent.

"Busy place," Raul comments. Lola nods, looking around.

"This place looks like a war zone," Boone says quietly.

"You wouldn't be far off," a voice says from beside them. They all look to see the woman with the Mohawk wiping sweat from her brow. "Julie Farkas, Followers of the Apocalypse. Do you need medical attention? Any help?"

"You look like you're the wane-_one_-who needs help," Lola says, gesturing across the compound. "Where are all your doctors?" She smiles wryly and gestures to the various individuals running around in labcoats. Lola counts about five of them.

"You're looking at them. We're stretched a little thin here."

"I can see," she says. "Do you need any halt-_help?"_ Julie looks thoughtful.

"Well, we could always use more medicine," she reluctantly admits. "Med-X, stims, RadAway." Lola nods.

"You can have any excess we have," she says, nodding to Cass. The group had gotten wickedly good at scavenging ever since they found Veronica and so they had an excess of just about everything. More than what everyone was willing to carry most days. It'd be good to give it to someone who could use it instead of just selling it for caps.

"More where that came from," Cass says, dumping a pile of medicine into a surprised Julie's arms.

"Just give us more time to collect," Veronica says with a wink.

"Thank you," Julie stutters, stunned. Lola smiles, ignoring the pounding in her head that is made worse by the muted screaming ringing throughout the camp. "Did you need medical attention?"

"Actually," Veronica says, but Lola answers quickly, cutting the girl off.

"It can wait," she says. "Until you have someone free." Julie nods and Veronica mouths 'are you sure?' She smiles again to try and put her friend at ease. She wanders away from her group and by the tents dotting the Fort, glancing in every so often to see injured people in ragged clothes or writhing, crying men and women detoxing. She sees an empty tent and walks in, trying to get away from the noise and scenes of ill health.

A blonde man in a labcoat matching Julie's is bent over a dusty book resting on an unsteady desk. He startles at one of Lola's footfalls and looks up at her. His right eye is swollen and black beneath his glasses. Before she can stop herself, she blurts out,

"How's the other guy look?" The man smiles sardonically, and answers,

"Infuriatingly handsome, as always. If you're looking for medical help, try one of the other doctors. I'm just a researcher and not a particularly good one."

"What kind of research?" she asks slowly, eyeing his book with interest.

"Oh, you know, finding alternative treatments for common illnesses and injuries. Stimpaks out of barrel cacti and other fantastic improbabilities. As far as fruitless wastes of time go, it is quite noble in its aims," he says. Despite his light tone, there is a hard edge to his voice that Lola recognizes.

"You sound bane-_bitter_," she says. He smiles that sort of half smile again, the one that doesn't look at all happy, and says,

"Yes, well. It's a noble goal but I don't think this research will yield much fruit. No pun intended." He looks at her with a searching gaze and asks, "You are here for medical attention, aren't you?"

"Well," she starts, trying to focus on what to say. "I can't really," she gestures to her mouth hopelessly. "It's hard."

"Aphasia," he says knowingly, and she nods, not really understanding the term. He looks at her a little closer and she feels like he is a child studying something with a microscope. Whether he intended to let her burn is open for discussion. "You understand everything said?" She nods. "But you have trouble articulating your own thoughts?"

She nods slowly, eyeing him. He tilts his head.

"Expressive then. Stroke? Head injury?"

"Shot," she says after a moment to comprehend what he is asking. Hesitantly, she lifts the brim of her hat to show him the scars that linger on her temple and snake down her cheek. "Twice."

"Well," he says. "You seem to be doing well, all things considered."

"Thought you weren't a doctor," she says.

"I have the knowledge," he answers. "But my bedside manner is somewhat lacking. Julie tells me I'm a little rude. Sorry." She shakes her head and gives him a genuine smile.

"Haze?" a familiar voice calls. She and the researcher-not-doctor turn their heads to the opening of the tent. Boone appears, looking weary and burdened with responsibility.

"Boone," she says formally. The researcher eyes the beret that rests crookedly on the top of Boone's head and asks with a small smile,

"Haze?" She nods.

"Lo-la," she answers, enunciating both syllables.

"Did you choose that name on purpose or is it the name you were born with?"

"Not sure," she says. "'Bout you? I'm sure 'researcher-not-doctor' isn't an actual name."

"How would you know?" he says though not unkindly. "I'm Arcade. Arcade Gannon."

"Arcade Gannon," she says the name slowly, as if weighing it on her tongue. "That's a heavy name." He smiles that same sort of wry half smile that causes a flicker of recognition in Lola but it flees just as soon as she tries to grab it.

"Yes," he says, turning back to his book. "I suppose it is."

* * *

><p>Inner Freeside did not suffer the end of the world well. Rubble lines the streets and beggars in torn clothes beg for food, spare caps, chems or anything anybody is willing to spare. Lola purses her lip and takes in the squalor that surrounds her. This place isn't what she thought it would be given its proximity to the Strip.<p>

"Uh-oh," Veronica says. Lola cuts her eyes over to her.

"What?"

"Trouble," she says, motioning to a dark and desolate side street. A group of about six shaking men and women armed with more pool cues than guns. Their clothes are torn and dirty, barely fitting most of them.

"What is it?" Lola asks, confused. One of them take a menacing step toward them, waving a switchblade threateningly and then it dawns on her. "They aren't seriously going to-" A glint of a weathered and beaten pistol sticks out from the middle of the group. She hears the bullet whiz past her and embed itself in the wall behind her. She looks at the small smoking crater left by it and back at the group of people attacking them.

"Yeah," Cass says, putting the cork back in her whiskey. "They seriously are." The people without guns take off running toward them at a dead sprint and Lola's hand is instantly drawn to her gun.

_Poor bastards,_ she thinks. She takes her hand off of her gun and dodges as one man with a baseball bat swings it at her. She feels the air from the strike hit her cheek and she balances herself to attack. She gives him a sharp kick in the sternum and he grunts, doubling over in pain. She doesn't get the chance to fight hand to hand very much and she finds that she likes it. _Should that bother me?_

A woman with a switchblade lunges at her and she feels the blade of the knife tear through the armor covering her side. She drags her foot across the gravel and swings it underneath the other woman's feet. She has poor posture, something Lola's mind takes note of and criticizes in a voice not her own, and the woman crumbles. She gives her a solid kick to the jaw and knocks the woman backward with a loud crack, eyes closed and bleeding profusely from her nose. She grins at Boone, who punches his opponent in the face. She can't tell his expression behind his sunglasses. She can see the blood glinting off of his face and the sight of it makes her unbelievable angry. Blood rushes through her veins and she clenches and unclenches her fists. Looking around, she sees that the others in her group have suffered similar small injuries and the rage in her burns all the brighter before she can even think to douse it.

"Fuck this!" she hears. She turns towards the sound to see a man drop his weapon, a sledgehammer that breaks in half as soon as it hits the ground, and takes off running down an alley. She takes off after him, her footsteps crunching the gravel and debris. She doesn't hear her friends calling her name as she rounds the corner after the thug. He looks over his shoulder to see her pursuing him. She grins almost maniacally and waves, a hunter chasing her prey.

"Oh God!" he says and he tries to pick up his pace. She runs faster after him, her heart pounding in her head. He turns a corner and slides. She uses the precious seconds he wastes trying to regain his balance to attack. She braces her feet as well as she can against the loose gravel and jumps, tackling him to the ground. He bites back a chocked sob as his head bounces off of the pavement.

"Got you," she says. She punches him in the face and commences to beat him up. Each thud of her fists against his flesh sounds out in time to her heartbeat and she no longer cares if she should be having fun or not.

"Haze," her name is said but she pays it no mind.

"Please," the man chokes out. "I don't wanna die!" That stays her hand for a moment. She looks at the man, bleeding and writing beneath her, and tilts her head in confusion. She raises her fist again but she never gets the chance to land another punch.

"_Haze!" _A hand snakes into the back of her shirt and she is pulled off of the thug without ceremony. An arm snakes around her waist to hold her in place when she tries to break free and the hand that pulled her up with such force grabs her wrists.

"Boone," she says calmly. "Let go." The arms tighten around her in response like an unmovable prison of flesh.

"Get out of here!" he barks at the thug. "_Now!" _The thug, bloodied and shaking, gets up and sprints off as fast as his legs can carry him, leaving behind a spackled trail of blood. She down at Boone as well as she can from the way he keeps her pinned. His lip is fat and swollen, his chin covered with blood, and his sunglasses have slid down his nose to expose his eyes.

His eyes burn with rage, clear and bright, and that helps to bring her back to herself.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" he asks quietly.

"They attacked us," she says. Suddenly, she realizes that she didn't care if she killed that fleeing thug once she got her hands on him. In fact, the thought of it exhilarated her. _No._ As much as she wanted to deny it, she could not. She had been excited by the violence in spite of herself. This wasn't the way she wanted to be. Pitifully, she says, "They were going to kill us."

"We were never in any danger," he says, his voice tight and strained like a father scolding a child. "They were never going to kill us."

_I'm worried that if this violence from her doesn't stop then there will be no redeeming her._

"They hurt you," she says, her voice small like a child's. The hand on her wrists has loosened up enough for her to pull one free and so she does. Boone doesn't flinch when she pulls her hand away but the arm around her waist tightens almost painfully as if to keep her in place. She takes his chin in her hand and brushes her thumb across it, wiping away the blood to expose the skin underneath. He hisses, exhaling through clenched teeth.

"I'm okay," he says thickly. "It's not a good enough reason to beat someone to death."

_But I say unto you, Resist not him that is evil: but whosoever smiteth thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also._

"I have to be better," she whispers. Her eyes are unfocused and the makes Boone nervous.

"Haze," he says, lightly shaking her. "Come back to me." She blinks and those frayed fragments of memory disappear. She shakes her head, putting her hands on his shoulders and pushing at him. The arm around her waist loosens enough to allow her to step back. She feels fingers lightly drag across her waist as she steps back.

"We should probably get back," she says.

The two of them walk an arms' length away from each other. She tries to move further away but Boone always closes the distance. No doubt to be in a better position to grab her should she lose it again. Lola doesn't say anything. She can't form any thoughts past the blood pounding in her head. What is wrong with her? Relishing a good fight is one thing but to be so determined to kill seemed to board on the clearly psychopathic.

What kind of person had she been in her past life to enjoy the suffering of others so much?

The rejoin the rest of the group and Lola focuses her eyes anywhere and everywhere except her friend's faces. She sees only two bodies lying in the broken street-the bodies of the thugs she had fought. With a burning shame she realizes that her friends let their opponents live.

"You okay, _hija_?" Raul asks from beside her. She startles, looking up to see her friends eyeing her with a worry and a little bit of fear. She forces a smile that she doesn't feel.

"Yeah," she says, a tight edge to her voice. "Just got carried away." He nods and doesn't say anything else. They begin to make their way toward the back of Freeside, where the gate to the Strip is, and Lola doesn't say anything about Boone sticking close to her. The gate comes into sight, looking dank and dingy like the rest of Freeside. The lights shining brightly behind it, however, is a stark contrast that speaks of fun and luxury. Securitrons mill around the gate and Lola fondly, if a little warily, thinks of Victor.

A dirty and ragged man pushes past them at a full sprint, heading for the gate. His bare feet smack against the broken pavement. He makes it past the Securitrons to the door. A victorious smile breaks across his face as he pulls the gate open.

The Securitrons gun him down before anyone can do more than gasp and his blood flows onto the dirty concrete.

"God damn it," a well dressed older man sitting a ways from the gate swears. He looks at her group and says, "You guys look new so here's some advice: I wouldn't try that, if I were you. Not if you want to live."

"Duly noted," she says absently.

"Have to keep the riffraff out somehow," Raul says and the disgust in his voice makes her stop. He's glaring at the Securitrons and something tells her his words weren't aimed at the desperate straggler who tried to break in. She walks up to the Securitron and it swivels to face her.

"Submit to a credit check or present your passport before preceding to the gate," it says in a rough and mechanical voice. "All trespassers will be shot."

"How much for a creature-_credit _check?"

"2,000 caps," it answers. She bites her lip and looks at Veronica. She shakes her head.

"We're about 500 caps short," she says. "Our last supply run put us a little under. I could hack it, but…" and Veronica's voice trails off as she looks at the body cooling in the street. Lola nods.

"No unnecessary risks," she says firmly. "We'll work."

"Plenty of work to be found," the older man pipes up. He straightens the collar of his wrinkled and stained suit almost self-consciously.

"Where?"

"Let's see," he says. "The Followers always need help." Lola nods, remembering what she had seen at the Old Mormon Fort. The Followers of the Apocalypse, despite their name, seemed like good people. It'd be nice to do some good. "The Garret twins down at the Atomic Wrangler are looking for an errand boy. And the King needs some merc work done. Although," he says, looking Boone up and down. Boone tenses and adjusts his beret in that defiant way again.

"You got something to say?" he asks curtly. The old man shakes his head.

"The Kings might not take too kindly to your friend here, on account of his choice in clothing accessories." Lola takes his warning into consideration and looks into the faces of her friends. They look at her expectantly and she realizes that none of them will move until she speaks. She feels humbled and a little afraid of their trust in her given what they just witnessed her do.

"We split up," she says, clearing her throat. "Get more work done fate-_faster_ that way."

"Ooh, ooh! I call the Followers!" Veronica says, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Cass snickers.

"That wouldn't have to do with a certain pretty lady with a green Mohawk, would it, girly?" she asks, elbowing Veronica in the ribs. Veronica slaps at her arm and turns redder by the second.

"Stuff it!" Cass cackles and looks to Lola.

"In that case," she says. "I'll take the Atomic Wrangler. I could use a drink right about now, all things considerin'."

"And I'll go with the cowgirl to make sure she doesn't cause any trouble," Raul says. Cass rolls her head back to grin up at him.

"Or you could cause trouble with me, handsome." He makes a face at her that seems to Lola to be oddly affectionate.

"All right," Lola says. "I'll go talk to the King of Freeside, then." _Because I'm the one best suited for mercenary work. _The thought is left unspoken but its written so clearly across everyone's faces that it might as well have been said aloud. "Boone, go with Veronica." The two of them protest at the same time.

"What? No! I have ED-E!" Veronica says. She looks to Boone almost apologetically. "Nothing against you, beret, but I can't exactly woo a pretty lady with your sullen ass around." He doesn't acknowledge the teasing, instead catching Lola's eye.

"Where you go, I go," Boone says to her stubbornly. Lola smiles wryly.

"To keep me out of train-_trouble?"_ He hesitates, as if reluctant to answer, and eventually decides on a slow nod. She shakes her head and motions to him as the group disperses to complete their separate tasks.

"You should know," he says quietly. "That it's nothing personal."

"I understand. My middle name is misery," she says. _It probably always has been._ It seems to be all she's good at causing, at any rate. "And I'd want to keep an eye on me too."


	22. The King of Loneliness

Chapter Twenty-Two: The King of Loneliness

_"I ain't no saint, but I've tried never to do anything that would hurt my family or offend God."-_Elvis Presley

'The King's School of Impersonation' flickering and cracked neon signs proudly proclaim all across the building. 'The King's' hangs right over the door as if marking a territory. Men mill about in leather jackets and greased up pompadours, glaring at the two of them.

"The squatters have been more and more trouble lately," one of them says with a pointed look to Boone. He tenses visibly. Lola resists the urge to reach out and offer comfort. Neither of them say anything and they walk into the building.

A closed door off to the side of a large counter catches Lola's eye. A single man (a King, if the jackets were anything to go by. That really confuses Lola. Is there more than one King of Freeside?) stands watch with his arms crossed and a surly expression on his face. The room had been loud with chatter when they walked in but as soon as the men in the room catch sight of them the noise slowly dies out. Lola sticks her chin out and swaggers over to the man guarding the closed door.

"What do we have here?" he sneers with an unfamiliar accent. "Another petitioner for The King?"

"Yes," Lola says slowly, in an effort to pronounce her words right. "We're here to see the King of F-Freeside, if possible."

"I suppose anything's possible, given the right price," he says with a falsely nonchalant air. He eyes the beret on Boone's head with disdain. "We don't take kindly to squatters."

"We're not," she protests. "We just got into town." She notices the way the men in the room have moved behind her and Boone, as if to prevent them from escaping.

"Oh?" The man says. "And let me guess-your friend is wearing that hat because it looks pretty?" Boone scowls but bites his tongue.

"He's NCR First Recon," Lola says. "But he's retired."

"Is that supposed to matter to me?" he says, pushing himself off of the wall. He gets right up in Boone's face. "An NCR bitch is an NCR bitch, isn't it, _soldier_ boy?" He says the words with utter disdain. His hand reaches up to take Boone's hat and Boone's hand wraps around the other man's wrist.

"Don't touch the beret," he says quietly. The guard grins at the men behind them, some of whom have pulled out switchblades and seem preoccupied with watching them glitter in the light. Some of them say 'You tell him, Pacer!' in fairly subdued voices. But Lola knows that's just an act. They're ready to stab those knives into Boone, every single one of them.

They can't fight them all, not without one of them dying.

"How much?" she says, in an effort to deflect the Kings' attention away from Boone. Pacer looks up at her and Boone releases his wrist.

"How much what?"

"To see the King of Freeside," she says.

"50 caps," he says.

"Done," she says automatically. She counts out 100 caps. They can just make it back when they get to work. "And a little extra to keep you from bothering my friend here. How does that s-sound?" He glares at Boone again and Lola shakes the small satchel holding 100 caps intently, moving it into his line of vision.

"A little extra to keep me and my boys from whipping your NCR dog?" She grits her teeth at the insult to Boone, one of many, and nods. He snatches the caps from her.

"I think that sounds mighty fine," he says, holding the satchel. "Mighty fine indeed." The surrounding Kings grumble at the nonviolent resolution and begin to put away their switchblades. Pacer kicks the door open and gives Lola a mock bow.

"After you," he says sardonically.

"Thank you," she says in as a dignified manner as she can manage. Boone follows her in and, true to his word (or at least his love of caps) Pacer lets him through.

They enter what seems to be some sort of theater or lounge. Weathered chairs and tables dot the cracked tile where a spattering of men sit watching one lone man sing on stage. He gyrates his hips as he sings lowly into an ancient microphone. Lola thought she would have trouble identifying the King of Freeside but as soon as she lays eyes on him she's sure of whom he is. He's a man in a stylish white suit and a pompadour that somehow fits his face. He gently pets a cyber dog, scratching it behind what was left of its ears. He mouths along with the words that the man sings and she focuses on them.

_"From a jack to a king of loneliness to a wedding ring_," the man sings in that strange accent that all of the Kings seem to speak with. _"I've played an ace and I won the queen. I walked away with your heart."_

"Sir?" Boone's voice snaps her out of her concentration. The King is likewise broken from whatever spell the song cast on him and he looks up.

"This ain't the military," he says, a little gruffly. "I don't go by sir."

"Are you the King of Freeside?" Lola asks slowly and the man's face lights up with a smile as he chuckles.

"Freeside belongs to the people, little lady," he says. "I'm just 'The King.'" Lola tilts her head at that. She doesn't understand but she's willing to go along with it.

"I was wondering if you wane-_would _have any work for us, Mr. The King," she says. His chuckle turns into a full blown laugh and the dog wearily lifts its head. Lola notices that it looks worn and sick.

"Did you hear that, Rexie?" The King asks affectionately. "This girl is something else. I'll start you off with something easy. How long have you two been in town?"

"Just got in," she answers. She adds a little defensively, "We're not squatters."

"Of course not," The King says easily. "But you do understand why there is that misunderstanding, what with the soldier boy you're running around with."

"Boone is my friend and I'll fight anyone who tries to hurt him," she says a little more forcefully than she meant to. She feels her face heat up and she pivots away from Boone slightly. He coughs slightly from beside her and she self-consciously scoots away from him.

"Of course," The King says in that same easy tone. "It's good to have friends willing to throw a few punches for you and take them too. You look like a woman who can handle herself."

"Yessi-Yes. I can." The King nods to himself, choosing not to comment on her slip up.

"When you first arrived, did you notice the bodyguard for hire near the gate?"

"Yes," she says. "We by-" she can't think of the rest of the word she wants so she improvises. "We passed them by."

"Its good money if you can stay alive long enough. Freeside's not as safe as it used to be so the money is well earned." Lola doesn't have to wonder for very long what the unspoken 'but' at the end of that sentence is. "Usually well earned, that is. Recently my men have been telling me that one bodyguard, a fella named Orris, has been making a little too much money. He's making a killing in repeat business. Once they hire him, they don't want anyone else. I need you to find out why. Specifically, I want you to hire him. Play the part of the innocent tourist and follow his lead. If nothing happens, so be it. But I'm guessing things won't go so smoothly. So, what do you say?"

"Is it dangerous? I like dangerous," she asks and as soon as the words leave her mouth she regrets asking. She'd sounded a little too eager and she tells herself to rein it in. The King doesn't even bat an eyelash.

"I like that enthusiasm," he says with a chuckle. "Here." He holds out a small satchel and shakes it. Lola can hear the caps jingle against one another. "For the hiring fee."

"Thank you," she says gratefully, accepting the caps.

"Report back to me once you've found out what I want to know," he says, turning back toward the stage. The cyberdog gives a soft whine and The King tenderly coos to him. There is an unmistakable air of being dismissed and so the two of them make their way out of the School of Impersonation.

"He doesn't seem like royalty, does he?" she says absently. Boone's lips crack into a faint smile.

"That's because he's not."

"His name isn't certainly-_seriously_ 'The King', is it?" He shrugs.

"There are men that call themselves stranger things," he says. She nods. She wonders, not for the first time, which is better: being born with a name or taking a name for yourself? She smiles at that because she isn't sure she'll ever find the answer. They walk past The Old Mormon Fort and Lola wonders how Veronica is faring. She did seem to have a soft spot for the woman with the green Mohawk-_Julie,_ her mind whispers-and it makes Lola happy to see her friend happy.

"I think that's him," Boone says, motioning to the men standing by the gate to Freeside. One milling about in metal armor and a smug expression catches her eye in particular. "You should let me do the talking." She nods at that and gratefully hands him The King's caps.

"That's a good under-_idea,_" she says with a smile and doesn't mention the fact that Boone is little better at talking than she is. They walk up to the group and the man in metal armor is the first to greet them.

"If you need to cross Freeside," he says slyly. "For two hundred caps, no one can protect you better than I can."

"How much?" Boone asks, strictly business. The man in metal armor, whom Lola assumes is Orris, eyes his beret and raises an eyebrow.

"You don't look like you need protecting," he comments. Lola tenses up but Boone answers the mercenary with an ease she didn't think he was capable of.

"Retired. A little rusty." Orris nods and turns his attention to Lola.

"I understand. Times being what they are, you wanna make sure you can keep your lady friend protected. Bad things can happen to a woman around here." Lola gives the man a look of indignation as he turns to accept the caps Boone offers him. Boone catches her eye as she opens her mouth to speak and gives her a small shake of his head. She motions to Lucky, the powerful .357 revolver on her hip, and mouths sarcastically 'I need protecting.' He smiles slightly and mouths 'no' as Orris opens the satchel of caps.

"Okay," Orris says after he is satisfied there are enough caps. The three of them begin moving toward the gate that leads into Inner Freeside. "I want to mention a few things up front. In order to ensure your safety, I need you to follow my instructions to the letter." Lola makes a face at his back and Boone gives her a stern look over the rim of his sunglasses.

"We'll be heading down the main street here the whole way down. No detours. You go off sight seeing and I go off to find another customer. Got it?"

"Got it," Boone says.

"Over here is the Old Mormon Fort," Orris motions to the fort. "The Followers of the Apocalypse are of a good sort and will patch you up if you get roughed up." He adds slyly, "Not that I ever need their services." Lola bites back a snort at his self-satisfied tone and looks to the Fort. The gate is ajar to allow Freeside residents easier access and just inside she can see Veronica bustling around with an arm full of medical supplies, ED-E beeping serenely behind her.

"Up ahead is where The Kings hang out," Orris says and Lola can hear the distaste in his voice. Viciously, he says, "Don't let them scare you. If they don't outnumber you five to one, you'll be fine." _Sounds like personal experience,_ Lola thinks. As charming as she found The King, she isn't too fond of Pacer and his entourage.

"Down to the right is the fun part of town. You haven't see Freeside until you've seen the Atomic Wrangler." She looks down the side street to see a sign of a man bull-riding an atomic bomb. She wonders how much trouble Cass is trying to get into and how well Raul has managed to keep her out of it. She doesn't hear screaming or gunshots so she counts that as one of God's small favors. Criers at the end of the street advertise both the Wrangler and a place called The Silver Rush.

"Do you want someone dead?" A man calls and her step falters a little at the question. He catches her eye and raises his eyebrow. "_Really _dead?" She snorts, tempted to go see what kind of wares he was advertising but Boone nudges her forward. Remembering Orris' words, she shrugs at the crier. _Maybe some other time_. He waves her off and turns to yell his advertisements at both the locals and the wastelanders that aimlessly mill about.

"Hey," Orris says after they jog down the old broken road. "Slow down. I don't like the look of some of those men down there." Lola cranes her neck to see past Orris. Five men in dirty wastelander fatigues are walking down the street toward them. One hits a pool cue in the palm of his hand and when he catches Lola's eye, he points it at her. She raises an eyebrow to Boone.

"Let's take a different way around," Orris says, leading down a dark side alley.

"You buyin' this?" she whispers to Boone. He shakes his head.

"No. But keep your guard up." The three of them jog down the dark alley, trying not to stumble over the twists and the turns the merc leads them through. They round a corner to see the group of men from up the street charging toward them. Lola wonders how they got ahead of them so quickly. It is almost like the group was waiting for them. Orris leads the charge, shooting his shotgun at them. Something seems off but Lola can't quite tell what it is. She reaches for her gun since they are being attacked but Boone grabs her wrist and shakes his head. She watches as Orris takes out all of the thugs but she can't find it in herself to be impressed.

"Did you see that?" Boone asks when the fight is over.

"Seemed a little slow-_showy," _she answers. He shakes his head.

"Not just that," he says as Orris jogs up to them, grinning from ear to ear.

"No need to worry!" he says a little too loudly. "If you had hired one of those other hacks, you'd be up to your ass in wasteland lowlifes by now. Good thing you had me, huh?"

"You're pretty good," Boone comments. "You only fired four shots and killed five thugs. I'm impressed." Orris winces slightly at Boone's comment.

"Er, noticed that, did you?" he clears his throat. "I, uh, keenly aimed through the soft tissue of one of the thugs to hit the man behind him."

"Or you just faked this whole thing," Lola says slowly, trying not to trip over her words. "In acre-_order_-to drum up repeat business." Orris' face darkens for a split second before turning to talk to Boone.

"That's an interesting theory your woman's got there," he says lightly but with an unmistakable menacing undertone."I'd advise that she keeps it to herself. Not everyone is as forgiving of the crazy talk of simpletons as I am." Boone's brow furrows and Lola sees his jaw lock into place. The skin of his face is tinged red and his eyes are narrowed as they follow Orris. Orris doesn't seem to notice. "Let's keep moving."

"After you," Lola mutters. Orris holds his hand out to her to help her step over one of the bodies and she takes it. His palm is sweaty and his fingernails bite into the top of her hand.

"Stay close," he says tightly. "Wouldn't want anything to happen to you."

"You threatenin' me?" she says. He smiles a sort of viper's smile before releasing her hand.

"Not at all." Boone moves a little closer to her as they begin to make their way out of the alley. They walk past the bodies of the men Orris had shot and Lola squints her eyes, running her gaze over the whole of one of the men's bodies. She nudges Boone and points.

"_Still breathing," _she hisses underneath her breath and he nods. They round a corner and come face to face with the Securitrons patrolling the front of the makeshift gate to The Strip.

"Well, well," Orris says. "Here we are. No worse for wear, now are we?" He pauses, expecting an answer and both of the shake their heads. "I trust you know who to hire if you ever need to cross Freeside again."

"Of course," Boone says curtly. "Thank you." Orris eyes the two of them suspiciously before turning to make his way back toward Freeside's front gate. They watch him until he is out of sight.

"He's a real charmer, ain't he?" Lola says.

"He's a fraud," Boone says. "No doubt about it." They begin walking back to the King's School of Impersonation. Two of the thugs come out of the alley in front of them but pay them no mind as they walk to the front gate. The flashing lights of the School come into view and Lola turns her head to Boone.

"You wanna wait out here?" she asks.

"No," he says. "I'm not afraid of some greaser thugs." They walk into the school, matching the glares of various Kings with ones of their own. Pacer smirks as they walk into what Lola can't stop thinking of as The King's throne room. (In reality it is a run-down and aging lounge but The King had a regal air about him that shone through the entire place.)

"What do you have for me?" he asks as they walk in.

"Orris is a fraud," Lola says. She tries to think of what to say next but can't. She shoots Boone a panicked look. He picks up where she left off.

"He fakes attacks on his clients," he explains. "And makes himself out to be a hero."

"So that's how it happens," The King says thoughtfully. "Okay, them. I'll have some guys pull him off the streets when no one is looking." Lola suppresses a shiver at the business-like way The King says that, as if it is nothing more than a discussion about the weather.

"You've shown me something," he says to them, keeping his eyes on Lola. "So maybe you can help me with something more important."

"Sure," Lola says, finding her voice. "Anything." The King shoots her an easy grin.

"A lot of folks around these parts who have been here awhile resent the sheer number of people who have come into the area since The Strip was built. In turn the newcomers, most of whom come from NCR," The King says, his eyes straying over to Boone. "Have gotten ornery of being resented. Sometimes things can get violent."

"I would imagine so," Lola says.

"This is one of those occasions. Some friends of mine got attacked," The King says, his expression darkening. It is a startling contrast to the handsome easiness that had covered his face before. "I'd like you to find out who attacked them." Swallowing past a dry throat, Lola nods.

"Where do we start?"

* * *

><p>This is kind of a filler chapter sorry! I had to break this up into two parts and the second one is almost done!<p> 


	23. Occupation GI Blues

Chapter Twenty-Three: Occupation G.I Blues

_We'd like to be heroes  
>But all that we do here is march<br>We'd like to be heroes  
>But all that we do here is march<br>And they don't give the Purple Heart  
>For a fallen arch <em>

_I've got those hup, two, three, four  
>Occupation G.I. Blues<br>From my G.I. hair to the heels of my G.I. shoes  
>And if I don't go stateside soon<br>I'm gonna blow my fuse _

"G.I Blues" (1960)-Elvis Presley

Lola and Boone walk down the broken streets of Freeside in silence. Lola can't help the way she keeps cutting her eyes over to look at Boone. She can't see his eyes but a hard line has consumed his mouth, making the thought of lips a distant memory. The tense set of his shoulders makes her feel uneasy.

"What?" Boone asks sharply, causing Lola to wince.

"You what," she mutters.

"Why are you staring? You got something to say?"

"Why with the hostility?" she asks, not caring that she got that sentence wrong. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he grunts.

"You sure?"

"Yes," he says, dragging out the one syllable through clenched teeth.

"Don't-_doesn't _sound like nothing," she replies. He glares at her, stopping in the street in the intersection before the Old Mormon Fort. Lola stops too.

"What?" she finds herself asking.

"Why are we doing this?" he asks after what seems like the longest staring contest in her, admittedly, short memory.

"We're getting money to for-_to go_-to Vegas," she says. "What else is there?"

"The King hates the NCR," Boone says.

"I am aware," she answers honestly. But by the way Boone clenches his jaw and exhales slowly, she feels that wasn't the right thing to say.

"He's convinced the NCR has wronged Freeside somehow," he says as though he is clarifying.

"And…?" she says, genuinely confused as to what Boone is getting at.

"And don't you think that he is going to try and get back at the NCR?" Boone prompts. "Trying to use us, or more specifically you, to do his dirty work?"

"The King isn't dirty," she says and resists the urge to say '_he looks quite clean.'_ She isn't sure if she could manage the whole sentence without stumbling anyway. Boone sighs explosively, rubbing the bridge of his nose under his sunglasses.

"Freeside is always dirty. The King has his own agenda," he says. "And I don't think he is above manipulating you to achieve it."

"Manipulating me?" she says, incredulous and a little hurt. She works to reign that in. "I know what we're here for-money, plain and serious-_simple._" She doesn't like the feel of those words the moment they leave her mouth. It isn't that they feel wrong tumbling from her lips; it's that they feel frighteningly _right._

"_I'm in it for the money, sweets," _she hears her own voice echo in her mind. "_I don't give two shits about right or wrong. You can't pay, I don't play."_

"There is something bigger than us going on," Boone says, and his voice chases away the phantoms that try to find a foothold in her mind. "There's a tension in the air of this place, like a battlefield before the fighting really starts. "

"You think a war might break on?"

"I think that when the fighting starts, I won't raise a hand against the NCR," he says. She doesn't understand at first why he would say that to her. But understanding follows quickly when she notices the hard set of his mouth and the roughness of his voice.

"You still think I'm Legion," she says, hurt flowing into her with every syllable. She focuses on the hurt to keep the anger from following and setting her aflame.

"I don't know what you are," he answers, the edge leaking out of his voice slightly.

"Well," she says, turning from him as the Old Mormon Fort comes into view. "That makes two of us."

They reach the Old Mormon Fort and Lola leans against the door harder than she needs to push it open. The rough splinters of the old wood bite into her skin and the door swings open with a rusty creak.

Things seem to be just as busy as they had been when the group was here earlier. Lola spots the green of Veronica's hood as she kneels next to a patient. Upon closer inspection, Lola sees that the patient is a small and sickly looking child. Veronica holds his hand and Lola hears her voice softly singing. Something that she can't name aches in her chest and Lola tears her eyes away as she hears Arcade walking toward them.

"Back again so soon?" he asks. Lola nods and he smiles softly. "Couldn't resist my charm, huh?" She smiles hesitantly, the corners of her mouth crinkling her face pleasantly.

"We're here wrapping-_working,_" she slowly corrects herself, the words feeling clunky in her mouth. "For the King." Boone tenses even more as though he found those words disagreeable. But he says nothing and so she continues. "We're looking for his friends."

"The King, huh?" Arcade says and he looks even less impressed than Boone. His face turns a light red and Lola tilts her head. He mutters to himself, "Makes sense he wouldn't show his face around here after last time," and he gingerly touches his swollen eye.

"Last time?" Lola echoes, and Arcade's face turns an even brighter shade of red.

"Come on," he says, motioning to the two of them. "I don't do personal questions. I know the people you need to talk to." Boone and Lola follow him in silence to a tent tucked away in a corner. Arcade lifts the flap and an old man crouched in an aged chair looks up with a scowl. Purple and molted bruises cover his skin. Lola traces the veins underneath his weathered skin and tries not to flinch at the bright spots of bruises and crimson wounds that mar his complexion.

"What do you want?" he spits, glaring at Boone in particular. "Can't you see I want to left alone with my friend here?" Lola's eyes move to a mattress in the corner of the tent and the quivering mass lying on it. The mass is curled up so tightly that Lola can't help but think of a frightened child and something she can't name tightens in her chest.

"The King sent us to look into your attack," Boone says, glancing at Lola. Her eyes are fixed on the quivering person on the mattress.

"Oh," the old man says with surprise coloring his voice. "The King sent _you?_ With that damned hat on?_"_ Boone grits his teeth and Lola's eyes move to the old man.

"It goes with his outfit," she says. The three men look at her in disbelief. She purses her lips. "Sorry. This is not the tome-_time_- for jokes. The King sent us. The two of us."

"Well, that's different then," the old man says, still eyeing them suspiciously. "I'll do anything to catch the bastards that did this to us." The person-Lola thinks they are a man-whimpers softly as though afraid.

"Tell us about the attack," Boone says.

"It happened at night, around eleven," the old man starts. "We had recently made some caps off of some scrap we had found, and we wanted to invest it wisely. As we were leaving The Wrangler, we must have taken a wrong turn and ended up on the squatter side of town." At the word 'squatter', he glares at Boone anew, and Lola grits her teeth.

"We're here to help," she says, motioning to herself and Boone. "Not harm. That goes for him," she pauses before focusing her eyes on Boone. "And me as well."

"If you say so," the old man says, although he doesn't sound convinced.

"Please commence," Lola says in an effort to be polite. At the old man's confused look, she rephrases after a difficult moment. "Please_ continue._"

"From out of nowhere, these big guys showed up and started barking questions at us," he continues, looking at Lola oddly. "They wanted to know it we were locals. The kid there," he motions to the man on the mattress, barely old enough to shave, and the boy curls up tighter. The old man's lips tighten, but he continues to speak after a moment. "He's as proud as a local can get, so he started yelling back at them. That's when all hell broke loose." He shakes his head.

"Kid got the worst of it, goddamn it all," he says. Lola cautiously moves towards the man lying on the mattress. He lifts his head up warily, almost like a cornered animal, to look at her. She smiles in what she hopes is a reassuring way.

"You remember anything about the guys who attacked you?" Boone asks gruffly.

"Young," the old man says. "Not even half my age. Big across the shoulders, like you, but taller. I had my face smashed into the concrete and begging for my life, so I didn't get a good look."

"I did," the boy says quietly, looking Lola in the eye. "Is it true that The King sent you?"

"Sure is," she says, keeping her voice gentle. His eyes cut over to Boone.

"Even him?"

"Even him," she answers. "You don't have to worry-he's my frozen-_friend._" He eyes Boone cautiously for another moment before speaking again.

"He don't have no trouble talkin', not the way you do."

"No," she says. "He doesn't." Arcade tilts his head curiously, shifting from foot to foot and Lola almost startles. For a minute, she had forgotten he was there. He eyes them curiously, listening to their conversation intently, and Lola has the feeling that if he had something to write with, he would be taking notes.

"Why you have trouble talkin'?" She doesn't wince, or look away. Her hand hesitantly goes up to the brim of her pre-war hat, and she feels the worn fabric with the pads of her fingers. She grips the brim and pulls it up a little.

"Shot," she says. "I can't talk rake-_right._"

"NCR shoot you?" His expression furrows and he winces. Underneath the bruises on his face, Lola can make out the faint traces of scars on the side of his temple. This isn't the first time he's been beaten, and the head seemed to be his attackers' spot of choice.

"No," she answers."I was shot by a man who took something for-_from_ me. From Vegas." He nods to himself, as if coming to a decision. "What's your name?"

"Wayne," he says. He motions to the old man. "He's Roy."

"You remember anything?" she tries again slowly, more to reassure him than because the words were hard to say.

"Yeah," he says. "But I don't want to talk to no one else but you and Roy." She nods, and looks back over her shoulder at Boone. Boone nods, uncrossing his arms.

"That's our cue to exit stage left," Arcade quips, motioning in front of him. "After you." Boone walks in front of the doctor, and the two men exit the tent.

"I don't like NCR," Wayne says. "I don't like doctors neither."

"That's okay," Lola says, even though she liked the two men very much. "You can tell me water-_what_ you remember when you're ready."

"Well," he starts, scrunching his forehead and looking to Roy for approval. The old man nods his assent and Walter begins talking almost apologetically. "I don't know what else I can add. They were better dressed than most Freesiders. Does that help?"

"Every bit helps," she says gently, understanding how fickle a mistress memory could be. "Thank you."

"Gee," he says, sounding every bit like a lost kid. "Sorry I couldn't be more help, since you're being so nice." She smiles again and hopes it doesn't seem forced. They have nothing to go on for their trouble besides the almost instinctive distrust of these two Freesiders. She stands and turns to walk out of the tent.

"Wait!" Wayne's voice sounds out. "I remember something else! A name!" She stops, turn back to face him. He leans forward intently, eyes shining with a newly remembered memory. She motions for him to speak.

"One of the guys that attacked us called another by name! We had just about had it when one of them said-" and at this, he mock lowers the tone of his voice. "'Hey, Lou, we gotta go.' At least, I think he said Lou." At these words, his expression falls. "It may have been something else. Now that I'm thinkin' of it, he called him 'Lou-something.' Something with a 'T'. Tennis-no. Tenure-no." He tilts his head and sighs explosively. Lola waits at the mouth of the tent patiently.

"Tenant!" he exclaims after a few minutes. "Lou Tenant! That's what he called him!"

"Lou Tenant," Lola says softly under her breath, rolling the words around in her mouth. The name sounds familiar but she can't seem to place why, or how she's heard it before. "Tenant. Tenant. Lou."

"He probably said 'lieutenant'," Roy says exasperatedly. He looks at Lola also most apologetically. "Sorry. The boy means well but he's dumb as a box of rocks."

"No," she says. "He did good. Real good." Wayne beams at her, the first real smile she's seen from him, and it makes her feel good. Makes her want to find the men who hurt him, regardless of who they are. She tips her hat to the two men and leaves the tent. Arcade and Boone stand a few yards away in silence. Neither look comfortable. Boone stands completely still as though he were a rock and Arcade subtly shifts from foot to foot.

"Lola," Arcade says, sounding relieved and walking toward her. "What did you find out?" She bites her lip, tugging at the weathered skin of her lips painfully. Boone tries to meet her gaze, his forehead furrowed and the set of his mouth a hard line. She looks away.

"They said," she starts and sighs. "Lieutenant. The men who attacked them-"

"Soldiers," Boone finishes. She winces and nods.

"Yeah."

"That doesn't seem too unlikely, given the political climate of Freeside," Arcade says. He looks at Boone's hat. "No offense, but the NCR isn't exactly well liked here."  
>"Hadn't noticed," Boone answers stiffly. "What's the next course of action, Haze?"<p>

"We find the people who did this," she says slowly. Boone grits his teeth. "I know they're NCR, but Boone-"

"That's not only it," he says. "Did you see how scared that kid was?" She nods in response and Boone exhales in a shaky breath. "I'm ashamed of those men, if they are NCR. People may not like us but this is not what we're in the Mojave to do." A crack creeps into his voice as he speaks, and it's so subtle Lola is surprised she noticed it at all. "_We're here to help people, not hurt them._" Arcade smiles, and it lights up his eyes. Before Lola can answer, Julie walks up.

"You're working to find the men who hurt Wayne and Roy?"

"Yes ma'am," Lola says.

"I think I can help you. I don't think the men are soldiers, at least not the ones stationed here on a regular basis. My friend, Elizabeth Kieran, hands out supplies to the poor west of here. Last I heard she was trying to get on the King's good side and form an alliance."

"Which, depending on the weather, can be extremely hard to do," Arcade quips.

"Go ask her," Julie says. "Though she may not open up to you right away. If she holds out on you, mention my name." She winks.

"Thank you," Lola says. She looks over at Boone. He's regained his composure, his arms crossed tightly over his chest and his mouth a thin, grim line. She tips her hat to Julie and Arcade, turning to leave. She hears Boone's heavy footsteps behind her walking in sync with another set of feet. She looks over her shoulder to see Arcade next to Boone. He catches her gaze and says,

"I figured I'd tag along for a bit. The locals might take to you two better if I'm with you. People here aren't fond of outsiders," he motions to Lola. "And they're less fond of NCR. I'm thinking my charm and good looks can help balance it out."

"What about your research?" she asks.

"Oh, I'm sure any scientific breakthroughs will control themselves until I get back."

* * *

><p>The three of them make their way through Freeside past the gravestones made of fallen highways and oceans of human refuse to an almost shell of a building in the back of the city. Given the state of the wasteland in general, worn down and decrepit buildings were the norm, but the air around this building hung heavy with the feeling of struggling. Two men stand guard outside the door.<p>

"I like that beret, soldier," one of them says to Boone, saluting him. Boone salutes as well.

"Thank you ,sir."

"Call me Galahan," he says with a gentle smile. He motions to the other man. "He's Barnes."

"Are you guys hungry?" Barnes asks. "We have free meals in here for citizens of the NCR." He looks closely at Arcade. "And the Followers too." Arcade arches an eyebrow that seems a question all of its own and says nothing.

"Are you NCR?" Barnes asks and Lola tilts her head.

"I-" she pauses and senses the strange looks the guards give her. The truth is that she didn't know where she was from. For all she knew, she could be from NCR or China or the edge of eternity.

"I'm not from arrange-_around _here," she decides to say. Barnes nods thoughtfully.

"You look every bit of it," he says. "In any case, I'm sure we can make an exception for you. Any friend of Corporal Boone's is a friend of the NCR." Boone coughs softly at that, shifting his weight from foot to foot as though the observation made him nervous.

"Thank you," she says. The men move aside for them and Galahan even holds the door open. The interior of the old building is little better off than the exterior. People in ragged clothes and with tired faces wait in line for what was probably their first and only meal of the day. A woman exuding an authoritative air about her bustles around the aged counter, deftly dodging the other people working without seeming rude. She smiles brightly at people in line and the heaviness seems to lighten from their eyes as they leave. She talks to each of them, addressing them by name, and when it comes to their turn at the counter, her expression turns to wonder.

"Corporal Boone?" she asks. He straightens into a soldier's posture almost immediately, saluting her.

"Major Kieran," he greets.

"It's good to see you, soldier," she says, her voice full of warmth. She turns the force of that bright smile to Lola, holding out a hand. "You must be Carla, right?" Boone winces as though physically struck and Lola feels an answering pain tighten in her chest. Kieran seems to realize the effect of her words and her smile falters.

"Not exactly," Lola says softly, gently taking Kieran's hand. She speaks slowly so as not to trip over her words. "My name is Lola Haze, and I'm a courier."

"A courier?" she asks. "Do you have a message for me?"

"Of a sort," Lola says. "We're investigating a matter for The King." The smile completely falls from Kieran's face, turning her expression to stone. She looks at Boone, and then Arcade, before turning her gaze back to Lola.

"Oh?" she says. "And what makes you think I'm the least bit interested in whatever The King needs help with?"

"Julie said to ask," Arcade says from behind Lola's shoulder. Kieran continues to stiffly hand out food to the other people in line.

"More like she told you to name-drop her," she says with a sigh.

"Has something happened?" Arcade asks. "Julie said you were trying to strike up an alliance with The King."

"I _was,_" she corrects him. "But The King didn't seem interested."

"What happened?" Lola asks. Kieran's eyes harden and she turns her gaze back to Lola.

"We sent an envoy to The King offering to help coordinate the relief effort," she says, unhappiness punctuating her every word.

"The King refused?" Lola says. The King, to her, had seemed like a man willing to do anything to help the people of Freeside-everyone, locals and NCR, seemed to be suffering. An alliance would have helped that, though pride was a stubborn voice to talk down.

"In a manner of speaking, yeah. Our envoy came back beaten within an inch of their lives." Boone makes a contemplative noise and Arcade sighs but Lola furrows her brow. "Because of it, my superiors ordered the mission scrapped. I managed to talk my way into getting clearance for it, but with greatly reduced support." Lola looks around the room at the tired people that accepted food and drink from Kieran. Desperation hangs heavy in the air; was it Freeside's curse? She wonders how much good could be done with more resources, and if anyone would ever be willing to provide those resources.

"Now, there isn't enough supplies to serve the rest of Freeside, even if I wanted to," Kieran says. "Which I don't." The way she says those last three words sound like a disappointed child trying to be spiteful but sounding defeated instead.

"Thank you for your time, Major," Lola says.

"Say hi to Julie for me," Kieran says, waving. Arcade waves back and the three of them exit the building. A man follows after them but he simply walks past them in another direction and pays them no mind, so Lola does the same.

"What are you thinking?" Boone asks quietly and Lola notes they are the first words he has spoken since Kieran asked if her name was Carla. His voice sounds scratchy and hoarse as if burdened with a lifetime of sorrow.

"I think we need to go tale-_talk _to The King," she answers.

* * *

><p>The King's School of Impersonation buzzes with a strange sort of activity. Tension ripples through the air with an electric charge and the faces that greet them are more hostile than before. Pacer leans against his usual spot by the door to the lounge but when they walk in he straightens to attention almost nervously. He barrels through the crowd to get to them and the sound of his footfalls fall into a frantic pace in time to the music blaring through the speakers from the lounge.<p>

"Hey!" he says aggressively. "I heard that NCR soldier lady sent you some wild story about them sending a messenger to us to work out some kind of deal."

"Yes," Lola says. Pacer stamps his foot impatiently.

"Well, that's bullshit! And it ain't nothin' to bother The King with. More like they sent someone to spy on us and he wasn't tough enough to last in Freeside." At this, Pacer focuses his glare on Boone.

"You implyin' something?" Boone says lowly.

"I think The King should name-_know_," Lola says.

"More like I think you should keep your goddamn mouth shut about it," Pacer retorts. He scoffs, his eyes dropping to her mouth. "Although, with the way you talk, it might as well be fuckin' gibberish. I can think of a hundred different ways that pretty mouth of yours could be used, and ain't a one of them involve talking." Boone takes a step forward but Lola beats him to it. She swings her arm to push Pacer across the chest. She knocks him back into the aged reception desk hard enough for it to crack slightly. He grunts and she leans forward, speaking slowly.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Way." She jerks back from him, and the other Kings in the room watch as she purposefully walks to the King's lounge. They whisper among themselves.

"Do you think Pacer is just gonna take that?" one of them says.

"She _has _been helping The King, and Freeside too," a young King says.

"But she just pushed Pacer! And she's a _girl_!"

"Yeah," another one says, and he twirls a straight razor instead of a switchblade between his fingers. "And that girl has just become my new best friend!"

Lola ignores them, stepping into the lounge with loud and echoing footsteps. Rex wearily lifts his head and The King affectionately pats his brain case before shifting in his seat.

"Hello, darlin'," he says, smilingly widely. "Did ya find anythi-" the smoothness rushes from his voice in one breath and Lola wonders if Pacer has stormed in behind her. She looks over her shoulder to see Boone and Arcade.

"Doc," The King says, and he almost sounds shy. "What brings you here?"

"The scent of testosterone and two century old pomade," Arcade replies dryly. After what can only be described as an awkward silence, The King softly asks,

"How's your eye?"

"Sore," Arcade replies stiffly and Lola swears The King winces. "However, I am told that it gives me character and adds to my dashing good looks."

"Well, I can't see any disimprovement," The King says. He rolls his eyes heavenward as Arcade scoffs. "Well, that is to say, you look mighty fine as ever-" Boone coughs discretely and Lola just looks between the two men. She catches Arcade's eye and he turns a bright shade of red. She mouths 'what' and subtly motions toward The King. Arcade simply mouths back 'no personal questions' and looks away.

"Mr. The King," Lola begins, shaking her head slightly and trying not to smile. The King shifts his body so he is facing her with an almost comical speed.

"Yeah," he says. "Back to business. What'd you find out about them soldier boys?"

"The NCR soldiers spade-_spend_ most of their time handing out supplies," she says. His brow furrows into an almost troubled look.

"Like food and things?" Lola nods in response. "Well, that ain't nothing to get ruffled over."

"It is for NCR citizens only," Lola clarifies.

"Ah," The King says. "I can see how that would cause a row."

"You do the same thing with the water pumps," Arcade's voice sounds from behind her. The King turns a darker shade of red.

"We charge everyone," he mutters.

"NCR gets charged double, sometimes triple," Arcade shoots back.

"It explains the goons, anyhow," The King continues, ignoring Arcade. "I suspect they're here to keep people like my friends away from the supplies. That's not a thing I support, no sir."

"They said they sent someone to tail-_talk_ to you about it," Lola says, watching his reaction. His brow furrows again in the same troubled manner as before.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," his says, agitation creeping into his voice. "They said _what _now?"

"They said-" Lola goes to repeat herself but The King shakes his head.

"What else?" he asks. "Why didn't the envoy ever make it to me?"

"He was beaten near to dying," she says and The King's winces as though he were expecting that answer but hoping it wasn't true.

"That would explain why they're riled at us," he says, nodding. "Seems like a big misunder-" Loud swearing sounds out from the reception area and a thud that sounds like a fist hitting flesh echoes. The King stands up from his chair as a member of the Kings bursts through the door. "What the hell?"

"King," the man says, sounding like little more than a scared little boy. "We got problems!"

"Lay it on me," The King says and he pitches his voice in a soothing manner in an attempt to calm the man. "What's going on?"

"There's a shootout going on at the train station," he says. "It's Pacer and some strangers. Might be NCR." Boone swears violently before turning and running from the longue. Before The King can say anything to her, Lola takes off after him. Arcade sighs loudly.

"Audentis Fortuna iuvat," he says softly to himself, placing his hand on his plasma gun. He runs off after them with The King not far behind.

* * *

><p>Lola runs, following Boone and trying to keep up. The pounding in her chest echoes in her head in time with her footfalls. Boone has been right-Freeside teeters on the edge of the brink of war. Boone was still a soldier and he was ever loyal to the NCR. Loyal soldiers were always in great supply and they made great martyrs to the causes of their country. She pushes herself faster and determination finds a home in her bones.<p>

They round the corner and the smell of blood hanging heavy in the air catches Lola's attention first. The bodies of dead Kings lay scattered about the train yard and she hears Boone let out a shaky breath.

"Why the hell are you here?" Pacer's voice rings out, trembling and somewhere between hatred and fear. "I've got this under control!" Lola follows the sound of his voice to see him cowering behind an ancient metal structure from before the war. It wasn't meant to serve as cover from fire and it shows in the bullet holes that mar its casing. Lola watches Boone as he looks at the scene surrounding them. She can just make out the expression of horror in his eyes before he stumbles over to Pacer, hurrying at such a fast pace that she fears he won't be able to keep his balance. Boone grabs Pacer by the front of his shirt, lifting him off of the ground and slamming his against the metal pre-War skeleton he had taken shelter under.

"God damn you!" Boone shouts, pushing Pacer harder back into the metal.

"Get your hands-"

"These were your men!" Boone's voice burns with rage. His form trembles, shaking Pacer as well. "They followed you, they _trusted_ you and you got them killed! And for what?" Pacer looks at Boone with fear in his eyes and Boone shakes him, his hands tightening in the fabric of Pacer's shirt and his voice cracking. "FOR WHAT?"

"Boone," Lola says quietly. She gently places a hand on his shoulder. He turns to her and the raw pain in his eyes makes her want to flee. She has not been equipped to deal with the suffering of others. Compassion, like all else, feels entirely foreign to her. But, deep in the recesses of her broken mind, she knows who she wants to be and it is not whoever she was before.

"Come back, Boone," she echoes him softly. "Come on back. We have wreck-_work _to do." He looks at her for a long moment as if he doesn't understand what she has said and for a moment she worries that she had gotten the words completely wrong. The pain flickers in Boone's eyes. It doesn't leave them but it hardens as if transforming itself to be directed toward a purpose. He lets go of Pacer's shirt and the man drops to the ground, glass crunching beneath him. He looks up at Boone with something akin to terror and-Lola likes to think-shame.

' "Get out of here," Boone snarls. Pacer still looks up at him, dumbfounded.

"You'd best do what he says," Lola adds. That seems to snap Pacer out of his trance and he nods dumbly, scrambling to his feet. He gives them one last troubled look before he turns tail and flees. Lola's hand still grips Boone's shoulder. She gives him what she hopes is a reassuring squeeze before letting go and stepping back to an acceptable distance. He gives her a short and tense nod in place of words and they both turn to move toward the NCR soldiers that Pacer had attacked.

"What in the hell?" A familiar voice says behind them. They turn to see The King looking at the carnage around them with a broken expression. Boone's lips turn up in a disgusted snarl but his expressions softens when The King falls to his knees next to one of his dead gang members.

"What happened?" he asks softly.

"Ask Pacer," Boone grunts, turning toward the NCR soldiers. Lola catches Arcade's eye and mouths 'stay with him'. Arcade nods and kneels beside The King, a hand out his shoulder. The King reaches up to cover Arcade's hand with his and Lola tears her gaze away, not wanting to intrude on The King's pain.

The NCR soldiers meet them in the middle of the old train yard, guns raised and ready to fire. She looks one of the younger ones in the eyes and he starts to tremble violently. She wonders what kind of stories he'd heard about her or if he'd ever killed anyone before today. Kieran leads them in the front with her pistol drawn, Barnes and Galahan flanking her.

"Drop your weapons," she orders. "Or we will open fire." Boone stops his advance and Lola follows his lead. He looks at her, with his hands still on his rifle, as if asking her to make a choice. He's waiting for her to lower her weapon or not. She wonders if he'd follow her if she attacked and looks around at the blood and dead bodies of the young men that didn't know any better, the young men Pacer led to their deaths. She looks at the young soldiers in front of her, trembling and with a sick sort of horror lighting up their eyes. She looks at the pistol in her hand, with the symbol of a club, and thinks that an instrument of death is anything but lucky.

But most of all, she wants to be trusted by Boone. She wants to show him what her words have failed to express, that she really is trying, that she wants to be good. Her sins are as scarlet: her soul hangs heavy and slick with blood and she just wants it to end, to preserve life instead of taking it in the name of money or anger or petty feuds.

She slowly, her eyes locked onto the young and frightened soldier's, lowers her gun and places it on the ground. She nudges it toward Kieran and her hands go behind her head. Boone breaths an almost inaudible sigh of relief, and he does the same.

"What does The King have to say to this?" Kieran asks, with a sneer that falls short of malice and speaks only of weariness instead. Lola motions behind her and keeps her movements slow.

"Ask him yourself," she says, directing Kieran's gaze to The King. He walks from body to body, his countenance that of a broken man ravaged by grief.

"He was expecting to win," Kieran says, her voice faltering. "He was expected us to be dead, like he tried to do to our envoy."

"He didn't know about the envoy," Boone says. "The man who led the attack on you, Pacer, kept it from him."

"He thinks it's a good idle-_idea_," Lola says. "He wants the best for Freeside and he ain't hateful."

"Shit," Kieran says, lowering her pistol and running a hand through her hair with a ragged sigh. She motions for her soldiers to lower their weapons as well. "Stand down, soldiers." She looks out across the train yard where The King lingers, Arcade talking lowly to him, and shakes her head, swearing again.

"This is going to be hard to talk out," Kieran says. She sets her weapon down next to theirs and walks over to The King. "King!" He looks up, a fractured sadness in his eyes.

"I reckon we need to do more talkin', and a little less action," he says. They begin to talk about the incident and plans for a future, combined relief effort. No one apologizes out loud. The apologies lie in the soft tones of voice and the careful actions, in the sorrowful glances aimed at the dead Kings.

"Thank you," Boone says to Lola, surprising her out of her thoughts. "For not attacking."

"You are lay-_loyal _to the NCR," she says simply. "And I am loyal to you."

_I am sick of finding excitement in death and blood._

* * *

><p><em>"Audentis Fortuna iuvat,"- "<em>Fortune favors the brave."


	24. Bat Country

Chapter Twenty-Four: Bat Country

"_There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die."-_ _Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, _Hunter S. Thompson

Lola sits alone at the bar in The Atomic Wrangler, sipping half-heartedly at a shot of whiskey. Cass laughs loudly, slamming her shot glass down and swaying, the brim of a strange hat covering her eyes. She and Raul had done some work for the Garrett twins, the proprietors of the bar, and as a result the group had a free place to stay the night for as long as they lived. She stares down into her whiskey as if expecting the amber liquid to hold a cure for her troubles. She downs the shot, relishing the burn in her throat.

"Hey there," she looks up to see Old Ben's kindly face looking down at her. She smiles in response and hopes it doesn't seem too forced. He gestures to the empty stool next to her. "May I?" She nods, pushing the stool toward him with her foot. He sits next to her, still smiling.

"Hey," she says. "What banes-_brings _you here?"

"I work here now," he says. He gestures to Cass and Raul. "Your friends talked me into picking up the torch again."

"As a bartender?" she asks. At his knowing look, she bites her bottom lip. "Ah."

"Yeah," he says. "I made good money at it back in the day, and the Garretts are willing to let me pick my own customers. "

"I see," she says awkwardly.

"I came over here to offer my services, at the request of your charismatic redhaired friend," he says, placing a hand on her knee and never losing that soft smile. She looks him up and down. He's quite a bit older than she realized when she first met him but nonetheless handsome for it. She's halfway tempted to accept the offer to see if the feeling of skin upon skin can chase away the crimson shadows that had been creeping into her mind as of late. Maybe to see if she could forget the uneasiness that her fractured past forged in her by burning it away with pleasures of the flesh. She decides on motioning James' Garret over and asking, in stumbling words, for two more shots of whiskey. As he sets the liquor down in front of them, she pushes one to Old Ben and looks down at hers with the same questioning expression. She finally shakes her head and downs it in one gulp.

"N-no, thank you," she stutters. "You're, uh, very pretty-_handsome_-but I don't-" He chuckles softly, patting her hand.

"No worries," he says kindly. "I thought I'd offer is all."

Boone watches Lola down the shot-it's the seventh one she's had-and it's rare that she drinks so many. Something odd tightens in his chest as he watches Cass send Old Ben to talk to her. He almost hopes that she goes with him just so he can stop looking at her but she declines and he can almost hate himself for the relief that bubbles in his chest. He looks down at his beer in near disgust and takes a swig, downing half of the luke-warm beverage.

A blast of warm air blows through the bar as the door creaks open. Lola looks up just as Boone does. The King walks in, timidly and slowly, with none of the swagger that he had previously. Boone scowls again and glares down into his beer. Arcade, glasses covering his bruised eye, walks in close behind and Lola sees his hand fall from the King's shoulder. The King's robot dog-Rex, if she remembered correctly-walks slowly behind them. Old Ben clinks his shot glass against hers and stands, offering his seat to the King.

"Mr. The King," Lola says, surprised to see him. "What can I do you for?" The King looks at Arcade with an odd questioning expression and Arcade nods.

"I came to apologize," he said. "About Pacer. And to thank you for not killing him. He's a dumb sumabitch, but he's my best friend. And he's gonna pay for what he's done, no doubt about it."

"I-"Lola starts to speak but The King holds up his hand.

"That ain't all. I'm also here to tell you if you need anything-money for the strip, extra muscle-that you can count on me. I owe you so, just this once, I'm givin' you a favor."

"A favor," she repeats, holding the word in her mouth. It feels heavy and dangerous in her mouth.

"Anything you want," The King says. She looks at Rex, who growls softly at her.

"Ah," she says. "The hat." The dog had a thing about people in hats, she remembers. She takes her black fedora off-_Sam Spade,_ her mind whispers-and ignores The King's flinch when he sees her bullet scars. She reaches her hand down to Rex and he sniffs it cautiously before licking it.

"See," she says softly. "I won't hurt you. I'm on your side." He gives a weak, but happy, bark and she pats the top of his brain case, wondering if he can feel it. The brain inside is an ugly grey with small black spots all across it.

"A favor," she says again. "Is a heavy thing."

"You don't want anything," The King says, sounding slightly disappointed.

"I should sale-_save_ it," she answers. "For something important." The King sighs, running a hand through his already mussed hair.

"I was afraid you were gonna say that," he says. He looks at her. "I hate owing people." He stands. He catches Arcade's eye. He nods once to the doctor.

"Come on, Rexie," he says softly, scooping up the cyberdog to carry him. "Let's go home." The King and Rex leave the Atomic Wrangler. Arcade sits in the seat The King left, and Lola notices the things he brought with him for the first time. One is an old worn book with a peeling title on the spine. The other is a small rusted box with red lettering.

"Men-tats," she says slowly. She looks up at Arcade. "Chems?"

"Yes," he says. "During my research I came across old Pre-War studies. Many people back then had your-" he pauses, trying to think of the right word. "_Injury,_ even more so once the fighting started."

"My head," she says, tapping the slightly sunken area of her skull. He nods.

"Yes, traumatic brain injury. Mentats, believe it or not, didn't start out as a chem, but a medicine."

"Medicine," she says slowly. "For what?"

"Originally, it was a psychiatric medicine," Arcade answers, opening the book he brought with him. He flips through it while still talking to her and Lola envies him his ability to read and talk at the same time. "Used to treat a wide spectrum of mental illness from anxiety to dementia and that is where it can help you."

"How?" she asks. He slides the book over to her and points at a paragraph. She squints her eyes to try and make the words stop moving.

"There was an unprecedented side effect in the treatment of patients with dementia," Arcade says. He looks at her closely as she struggles to read. "It can rebuild neural pathways." She looks up at him.

"Neu-ral pathways," she repeats. She finds the word hard to say but fun as well. "Neural. What is a neural?" Arcade chuckles but Lola doesn't feel that he is laughing at her for not knowing. It's a pleased sound and it pleases her to hear it.

"Well, a neural pathway consists of multiple cells called neurons, which are in your brain" he starts, his voice brimming with excitement. "Your brain is a complex entity. It's an organ that runs all of your other systems. Everything that you are, everything that you do or think or feel, is a result of your brain. These neurons, which form into neural pathways, send information along your brain and your nervous system. Here, move your arm."

"What?"

"Go on, move it. Any way you want." She looks at him dubiously but does as he asked, moving her arm up and down. "You moved your arm as a result of actions in your brain. You heard my request, processed it, made the decision to move your arm and then moved it. That's a result of the information firing through the neural pathways to your arm."

"Ah," she says, though she doesn't really understand it all.

"Before the war, it was found that mentats can rebuild neural pathways to an extent. You'll always have your injury but I believe, with treatment, that you might be able to regain some of your lost function. Your neurons can be rewired around your injury." She stares at him in amazement and then a sense of panic sets in.

"Will I," she starts, then stops. She takes a deep breath to steady herself just as James Garret refills her shotglass. She slowly continues while staring into the amber liquid as if she could find her past in it. "Will I be who I was before?" Arcade winces beside her.

"It's not that simple," he says. "You may regain some of your memories, but there is no guarantee." She nods to herself and downs the shot of whiskey. He looks at her closely as if she were one of his experiments.

"Lola," he says. "Do you want to be who you were before?" She thinks about the question. The words bounce around like bullets in her brain and she has a hard time catching them to form into coherent thoughts. But deep down in her brain, maybe even her soul, she knows the answer.

"No," she answers softly. "I don't think I do." Arcade slides the book with the faded box of mentats on top over to her.

"Mentats aren't as addictive as other chems," he says. "But if you start taking them and feel yourself needing them, feel as if they don't work as well if you don't up the dosage, you come find me at the Old Mormon Fort. We'll find something else if that happens, okay?"

"You aren't carving-_coming_ with us?" she asks. She'd thought the doctor fit in well with their group and, if she were in a mood to be practical, they could use someone with his level of medical expertise. But, more importantly to her, she liked the doctor. She had started to consider him a friend. He smiles sadly, his eyes shining with a forlorn light, and shakes his head.

"No," he says and regret weighs down his voice. "No, I'm needed here. Soon we'll run out of hospitals to loot and I need to continue my work so people can continue to get treatment." He gives her a soft smile. "Besides, Julie would miss my bedside manner and charming disposition."

"So she would," she says. She idly brushes her fingers against the edge of the mentats box. "Thank you. For everything."

"Anytime," he says, standing up. He eyes the bottle of whiskey James had left on the table for her. "Don't take those with alcohol," he tells her, and she stifles a laugh at how much like a doctor he sounds. "And good luck on the Strip. I hope you find what you're looking for."

"So do I," she mutters, downing another shot of burning whiskey.

"Come on," Cass slurs from beside her, speaking between hiccups. "Let's go to bed. We gotta a big day tomorrow."

"Sleepover!" Veronica says with a laugh, giddy and bouncing with energy. "No boys allowed!" Lola nods slowly, her head swimming. Cass stumbles and Lola barely manages to catch her. She slings one of the cowgirl's arms around her shoulders and Veronica takes the other. She meets Boone's gaze-she'd steadily ignored the way his eyes had locked onto her back the entire night. He'd taken his sunglasses off sometime during the night and she startles at seeing him without them. Dark bags hung under his eyes and wrinkles lined his brow. He looked older than his years and tired beyond belief. He takes another swig of his beer and Lola notices the empty bottles that litter the area by his feet. He looks at her as if he has a question he isn't sure he wants answered.

His eyes follow her, set bright and intense in a tired face, and she can't take her gaze away from his, even as she's walking away. She finds that she doesn't want to leave him alone tonight; there's something odd about the way his eyes follow her. She sees sorrow, confliction and a hint of possessiveness in the way his eyes follow her every step and she wonders why he'd spent the whole night staring at her instead of celebrating like the others. She thinks he shouldn't be alone but by that time she and the girls had reached the top of the stairs. Veronica lets them into the room. The door closes behind them and Lola leaves Boone behind, still feeling his eyes on her back.

* * *

><p>She wakes up in the morning with a strangled shout, burning smoke choking off her air. She takes in a few deep, gasping breaths before realizing the air is fine and nothing is around to burn her. The room she's in is dark and she doesn't remember how she got there. A sense of panic builds at the thought but she takes a few deep breaths and tries to calm herself down. The last things she remembers are whiskey, the Atomic Wrangler and Boone. The last one makes her flush and she attempts to sit up. However, she finds that she is heavier than normal and fumbles for her pipboy . After during the light on and wincing (when did it get so bright?), she sees why.<p>

Veronica sleeps peacefully next to her, her hood slipped off her head to reveal tufts of lovely and short chestnut hair. She has her arms wrapped tightly around Lola's waist, and her face lies snuggled against Lola's chest. Lola's heart sinks as she thinks about how young the girl looks and the possibility that she may have done something untoward makes her burn with shame. She cautiously lifts the blankets and sighs loudly in relief when she sees both of them are still fully clothed. But her brow furrows when she notices an extra set of arms wrapped around her hips. She turns to see Cass, snoring softly and with her red hair spread across the pillowcase like a wildfire. She sighs in relief again when she sees Cass is also fully clothed, down to her boots.

Lola settles down into the pillows again, ignoring the throbbing in her head. The two women next to her are warm and the mattress is more comfortable than anything she's sleep on in a while. She tries to remember the dream which frightened her into consciousness but its fading fast. She closes her eyes and she can remember screaming, though not the words.

And she can remember fire.

She shudders, trying to sink deeper into the mattress, and stares into the dark until Cass wakes up. The other woman sits up, her hair a fiery halo sticking up from her head, and she looks down at Lola and Veronica with a snort.

"You guys cuddle," Lola says in reply. "And are very warm."

Veronica wakes up to Cass' loud laughter. She squeaks and pushes away from Lola in a flurry of arms, toppling over the edge of the bed with a high-pitched,

"Wedidn'tdoanythingIswear!"

Cass laughs harder, doubling over, and Lola laughs with her.

* * *

><p>Lola apprehensively watches the securitron as the group submits to a credit check. She pretends not to notice the bloodstain on the concrete in front of the gate to the Strip.<p>

"Thank you," the securitron says, as cordial as a robot can be. "Please enjoy your stay." She nods and, swallowing, moves toward the gate to the Strip. She pushes it open with a loud screeching, studiously avoiding stepping on the rusted and blood stained concrete.

Her breath catches in her throat by how _bright _everything is. They had left the Atomic Wrangler just before morning broke. Even now, the sun slowly crept over the horizon but what caught Lola's attention were the _lights_. Lights, in her admittedly incomplete memory, had been dim and dusty things hanging by thread-like wires. These were full of life and color; even in the early hours of the morning, the Strip absolutely teemed with life. She thinks colors that beautiful should be sinful but she doesn't care. She marvels at the beauty of the colors. She turns to look at her group and Boone nearly flinches at the look of awe on her face.

"The lights," she says, unable to say anymore. The flashing lights of the Strip dance across her face and Boone's heart clenches at the way they almost make her look innocent. She looks like she's seeing the whole world for the first time and, as far as the both of them know, she is.

"It's still got that charm, despite its age," Raul says. He winks at her and says, "Kind of like someone else I can mention." She laughs at that and, taking one last wistful look at the colored lights, says,

"Down to business." Raul nods, pointing.

"The Tops is right over there, past that gate," he says. Lola nods, looking at the bright building. It's pretty and her stomach flops in anxiety at what will be waiting for her. She doesn't even remember Benny, not completely. Snatches of sound-_this game was rigged from the start-_and the description of a man in a checkered suit. Her hand instinctively goes to her pocket, where she keeps his lighter, and she steels her resolve.

She moves forward, only to have a securitron roll up to her.

"Howdy, partner!" it chirps.

"Victor," she says, surprised. "Good to see you've mark-_made _it."

"I'm here," the robot says, and Lola can't help but call it a him in her mind. "I found what I was looking for!"

"You did?" she says warmly. "That's great!"

"I'm a seuritron for Mr. House," he says. "I remembered that. And I'm glad you made it too! Mr. House sure does want to see you." At this, she hears Raul let out a startled gasp. Boone tenses beside her and Cass mutters a soft 'no shit?'

"Whoa," Veronica says. Lola blinks, not understanding the reactions of her friends.

"That's all well," she says. "But I have business to archive-_attend _to so I can't-"

"Oh, he really wants to see you," Victor implores again and Lola wonders if Mr. House can see her through Victor's screen. "He'd be mighty sore if you didn't."

"But," she says, her eyes on The Tops as Victor takes her arm and leads her away. _No, _she thinks almost desperately. _I'm so close._

"I'm so close," she whispers.

"Don't worry," Victor says. "After you talk to Mr. House, you can go do whatever you want." The robot stops and pushes open the door to a casino. Lola takes a reluctant step forward and Boone goes to follow her but Victor thrusts his robotic arm out.

"Sorry, partner," he says. "Mr. House was adamant-he just wants to see her. I'm afraid you'll have to wait outside."

"Like hell," Boone growls. She looks back at her group and their varying expressions of curiosity and apprehension. She takes a step away from the Casino, away from Victor. She knows the name House sounds familiar and she thinks for a moment. She slips her pack from her shoulder, opening it and rummaging around for that delivery order she'd kept with her. She finds it, her hands wrapped around a piece of paper she'd received seemingly a lifetime ago, and pulls it out to read. Sure enough, it insures a delivery of a platinum poker chip to a Mr. Robert E. House. She looks up at the towering spire of the Lucky 38 looming over the Strip.

"I had a delivery," she says. "Should I go in?" Raul nods.

"Not many people have been inside the Lucky 38 since the bombs dropped," he says. "As far as I know, you're the first one he's ever invited."

"Who is he?" she asks. Raul chuckles, despite the tension of the air.

"How old do you think I am, boss? Because it's probably older than you're thinking. Everybody knew Robert House; he was a genius. He founded RobCo at 22, dated Hollywood starlets, the works. They say he saved Las Vegas," he says and even Lola can see the sad look in his eyes. "When the bombs fell on Mexico City, I saw House's defensive rockets fly into the sky."

"He can't still be alive," Veronica says, looking up at the Lucky 38 with a fearful sort of fascination. "Not unless he's a ghoul, and no one has ever seen him."

"You can't go in there alone," Boone says stubbornly. "We don't know a damn thing about this guy." Lola looks at him, remember the way he'd looked at her last night, and lowers her eyes.

"I'll just see what he wants," Lola says. Boone clenches his jaw tightly.

"I don't like this," he says. She nods, acknowledging what he said, and turns to Victor.

"I don't have the chat-_chip,_" she says. "Benny stole it."

"Don't you worry your little head," Victor says, his display flashing to a winking face. "I'm sure you and the boss can come up with a plan." She looks at the doors of the Lucky 38 and, with a deep breath, walks up to them and pushes them open.

The first thing she notices is how _quiet _it is inside the building. The door swings shut behind her and she hears a faint, low humming of machinery. But there are no sounds caused by someone living and that makes her uneasy. Dust particles hang in the air, illuminated by the early morning light streaming in through the windows. Her boots leave footprints in the soft red carpet as she walks toward another securitron by another set of doors.

"Howdy, partner!' Victor says. She points to the door behind her, confused.

"But you were just-" her voice trails off as the securitron shushes her and usher into a small room. She yelps as the room begins moving and she grabs on to the railing on the wall. Numbers flash on a display and her stomach clenches the higher the numbers go. A final ding sounds out and the doors open. She nearly stumbles out of the moving room, shaky as it closes behind her.

This room sparkles, the light playing off of silver services and everything looks new. The only way Lola can tell it isn't is by the thin layer of dust she kicks up when she walks and the empty silence that permeates the place. It reminds of almost of a tomb and she shudders, her arms crossing in an attempt to block a sudden chill. She comes to a large computer screen and startles when it comes to life, flashing an unfamiliar face with a heavy set brow, dark eyes and a black mustache.

"This meeting has been a long time coming, hasn't it?" A voice booms out of aged speakers, sounding almost affectionate. "You've come a long ways, literally, and I expect, figuratively as well. Now that you're here, I have to ask; what do you make of what you see?" She looks around at the silent and almost clinical room with nothing alive except for her.

"I prefer the wasteland," she says quietly. The voice tsks and she knows it was the wrong thing to say. But life goes on out in the wasteland; she feels frozen in here, almost suffocated. The Mojave air is hot and musty, but it is air nonetheless. Here she feels like she can hardly breathe.

"And that is exactly what you would be out there; wasted," the computer says.

"Are you Mr. House?" she asks.

"Yes." She swallows past the dryness of her throat and her next words come out as a whisper.

"Are you alive?" A low chuckle echoes throughout the room and the face on the screen flashes a smile.

"I am very much alive, I assure you," House says. "I am flesh and blood, not silicon."

"I don't have your chart-_chip,_" she says, wincing at the way she stumbles over her words.

"I am aware," he says, sounding neither pleased or displeased. She eyes the screen suspiciously.

"Why am I here?" she asks, speaking slowly in an attempt to not trip over her words in front of this eloquently spoken computer screen. "No one in almost two hundred years sets feet-_foot_ in here; why me?" The voice tsks again.

"Oh, come now, don't be coy," House says, sounding displeased this time. "You've been playing a high-stakes game ever since Victor dug you out of the ground-maybe even before. Don't be afraid to admit it."

"Hard to admit what you can't remember," she says honestly. "Why am I here?"

"Well," he says, sounding surprised. "Isn't that interesting? Lucky for you, you don't need to remember your past; only anticipate your future. One of my employees has stolen an item of extraordinary value to me and I want it recovered. Simple enough?" She nods.

"Benny," she says.

"Yes," he says, distaste dripping from the word. "I don't particularly care what happens to him. I only care about the platinum chip. When you deliver it to me, I will pay you four times the amount in your contract. How's that?" Lola's eyebrows raise; that was a thousand caps easily. She nods.

"Good," House says satisfied.

"What is the chip?" she says.

"You needn't know that; not for this stage of this enterprise."

"I know it isn't a normal poker chip," she says heatedly. "Benny tried to cave-_kill_ me over it. I don't remember a-a-anything from before he shot me. " She looks the face on the screen dead in the eyes, wondering if he can see her. "He took my life. I deserve to know why."

"That you indeed do, my dear," House says, admiration coloring his voice. "That you do. Suffice it to say, the chip is a very special item and it has been lost a long while. It is important to me and I want it back. I will tell you everything you wish to know and more after you retrieve it for me. Do we have a deal?" She knows when her hand isn't good enough; he wouldn't budge on this until after she did what he asked.

"Deal," she says softly.

* * *

><p>Lola's stomach drops when she walks out of the Lucky 38 and sees how many people have gathered. She can hear their whispering and see their looks of awe and all she can think is that Benny is going to know she's coming.<p>

Boone pushes off the wall he'd been leaning on and walks over to her.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Benny has the chip," she says, and she gives him a weak smile. "Looks like I'm making that delivery after all." He nods, the line of his jaw tense and drawn. She looks back out to the crowd of people and their whispering seems to becoming a roaring din fairly quickly.

"He's gonna know," she says unhappily. Victor rolls up next to them and Boone makes a low growling noise.

"Mr. House says you and your friends can use the Presidential Suite," he chirps. "It'll be just like a club house!"

"Whoa whoa whoa," Cass says, her mischievous gaze sliding to Lola. "Did that thing just say Presidential Suite?"

"Awesome!" Veronica cheers, running past the group and into the Lucky 38, Cass close behind her. Raul shakes his head with a chuckle and follows them in. Lola and Boone trail behind them as they pile into the moving room.

"It moves," she warns them, her hand reaching out to grab the guardrail as it lurches up. Veronica squeals in delight.

"An elevator! Awesome!" The doors open much sooner than they did last time. They pour out of the elevator and Victor says,

"Here you are! You all have the run of the whole casino, except the Penthouse Suite. Only the little lady here is allowed up there." Veronica pays no mind, pushing open doors and exploring the suite. Cass follows behind her but shoots a knowing look to Lola. Lola shrugs in response and looks around the suite as well. She's gotten used to the dust, pushing open a door to a kitchen area. As far as she can see, there are no windows and she isn't sure if she'd prefer windows or not. They are high in the air, higher than she can remember being, but at the same time she feels entombed because she can't see the sky.

"Oh, wow," Raul says from across the suite. Lola can hear running water. "Boss, they have hot water in here!"

Veronica lets out a little shriek of delight from one of the bed rooms. Lola follows the sound, walking past Boone who has set up a vigilant watch against one of the walls. She feels his eyes follow her into the master bedroom and she sees Veronica in front of an open wardrobe.

"Dresses!" she exclaims, pulling out a white, flowing dress. She swishes it back and forth like a little girl. "Dresses dresses dresses!" Cass laughs and Lola, despite everything, cracks a smile. Veronica looks up, excited mischief gleaming in her eyes.

"We should dress up!" She pulls out a couple of more dresses and makes a beeline for Lola. Lola holds her hands up even as Veronica holds the dresses up to her.

"I don't think," she says, flustered, as Veronica switches dresses with her tongue sticking part of the way out of her mouth in concentration. "I have to get B-Benny."

"He knows we're coming," Cass drawls, taking a swig of whiskey. "Or, at least he will if that crowd was any indication. Maybe this will buy you time and disguise you."

"Yeah," Veronica says, nodding vigorously. "If you go in there with your guns and covered in wasteland grit, he'll make you for sure! With one of these," she says, shaking a dark crimson dress at Lola. "You'll definitely fly under the radar."

"I don't think so," Lola says nervously and Veronica pouts, shaking the dress at her again. Lola looks at the other girl, her excitement scrubbing the veneer of age off of her face and making her look impossibly young. Something in her heart softens, and she takes the dress from her.

"Let me get cleaned up," she says gently.

"Yeah!" Veronica whoops, punching her fist in the air. Lola sets the dress down carefully and Veronica runs back to the wardrobe, grabbing Cass' hand as she goes by. Lola leaves the room and Raul comes out of the bathroom dressed in a robe and scrubbing the back of his head with a towel. He grins at her and she moves past him into the small bathroom. Raul pulls the door shut behind her and she hears his footsteps as he moves away from the room. She turns the water on, letting the room fill up with steam again. She pulls her hat off, setting it on a small stool, and avoids looking in the mirror as she strips her armor off. She doesn't want to think about the last time she took a shower or the two scars on the side of her face.

She steps under the spray and a soft moan tumbles out of her mouth. Raul was right-the water _is _hot and blissfully so. She leans her forehead against the tile as the water cascades down her back and it is as though the heat seeps its way into her very muscles. She stands there for a few minutes, letting the water wash away weeks of wasteland grime and dried blood. She rolls her neck, absently reaching for the soap.

_Apple-scented,_ she reads. She smiles because she knows what an apple is and, unlike some of the other things she's remembered, this one is wholly pleasant. It reminds her of summer and climbing trees and the taste of sweet fruit. She squeezes some in her hand and sniffs it. After a moment's contemplation, she licks the top of it. She gags, making a face and rinsing the taste out of her mouth before soaping up. After she gets good and clean she reluctantly turns off the water. She could stay all night under the hot spray of water if she were able.

If she didn't have other things to worry about.

She dries off and grabs one of the many robes hanging from the wall, slipping it over her shoulders. She eyes herself in the mirror. Her skin has gotten darker from time spent in the sun and her green eyes look back at her tiredly. One eye rests lower than the other, the bullet scars snaking down the side of her face to cup her cheek. Her russet hair hangs down her face in limp strings, stopping at the middle of her cheek. She grabs her hat off the stool and pulls it over her eyes before leaving the bathroom.

She walks back to the master bedroom and Veronica squeals, dragging Cass along by the hand. She hears the water turn back on and she smiles, shutting the door behind her. She eyes the crimson dress; Veronica had set it out on the bed with a pair of strappy red shoes. She picks up the shoe with dismay; the heel on it is longer than her combat knife. She sets it down and eyes the dress as if it were an enemy to fight. She runs her hand across it and admits to herself that the fabric feels cool and soft against her rough fingertips.

Lola shrugs out of the robe, setting it on the bed. She picks up the dress and holds it out. There are no shoulders to it but scraps of fabric that reach up to tie behind the neck. She slips it over her head, tugging it down and apprehensive when it doesn't reach further than her middle thighs. Her legs stare back at her, tawny and dusted with light hair. She coughs, adjusting the bust. The neckline hangs lower than she'd like, the fabric stretching tight over her breasts. She eyes the shoes and sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed to put them on. They're uncomfortable and impractical. She stands, swaying a little. She's several inches taller but she isn't sure she can stand wearing them for very long.

She slowly makes her way to the full length mirror at left of the room, keeping her head down and her eyes on her feet. The red straps stand out against her feet like bloody wounds. When she reaches the mirror, she looks up to see herself standing back at her. She looks unsure, black and worn fedora lopsided on her head and a crimson dress pulled tightly across her body as though it were a second skin. She runs her hands across the fabric, across the planes of a hard stomach that has seen too much combat and not enough meals. She tugs at the neckline of her dress again, trying to make it higher instead of so low. She pulls her hands away from the dress to see their covered in blood. She looks up in the mirror, panicked, to see herself grinning and drenched in blood.

With a harsh cry she flings her arm out, knocking it into the mirror. The mirror teeters before falling with a loud crash. Glass splinters all over the floor, flying across the tops of her feet. She stumbles back, away from the broken reflection she can see in the pieces of glass. The door knocks open forcefully against the wall and Boone comes through it.

"Haze-" he says, then stops when he sees her. He swallows thickly, looking as uncomfortable as a priest walking in on an orgy. She crosses her arms across her chest in an effort to hide the low neckline of the dress.

"Yeah. Stumbled is all. Damn shoes," she breathes, in an effort to make the situation light, and slightly lifts her leg so Boone can see what she's talking about. She wishes she hadn't the instant his gaze lands on her ankle and he moves it slowly up her leg, distress and something she couldn't name igniting his eyes. She can almost feel his gaze as if it were a physical caress as it moves up her legs, past her stomach, lingering on her breasts and finally meeting her eyes. She looks down, keeping the scarred side of her face from his gaze and knocking her knees together, saying nothing.

Raul stumbles in after Boone, followed close behind by Veronica and Cass.

"You okay, bo-" he begins, his voice trailing off. "Dios ayudame," he breathes. Cass lets out a low whistle and Veronica jumps slightly, clapping her hands.

"You look so pretty!" Lola smiles weakly, sitting down on the edge of the bed to undo the straps of the shoes. Boone coughs, as if remembering himself, and says,

"She stumbled." Lola nods, dropping the shoes on the floor.

"I won't be waiting-_wearing _these," she says in a tone that is stronger than she feels, even in the face of Veronica's pout. Boone nods.

"That's for the best," he says, his eyes lingering on the shoes as he speaks. He licks his lips in an effort to chase away the dryness of his mouth. _Probably the dust, _Lola thinks as she notices how dry her own mouth is. "You can't run in those." She tugs at one of the straps of the dress in an effort to pull it higher.

"Maybe I shouldn't-" she says, but trails off when she sees Veronica's hopeful gaze.

"Do you like the dress?" the young scribe asks. Lola forces a smile.

"Yeah," she answers. "It's great." Veronica squeals again, shooing Boone and Raul out. Lola's eyes lock onto Boone's as Veronica shuts the door. Once the door clicks shut, Lola sighs, rubbing the back of her neck. Cass eyes her knowingly again as Veronica bustles around the wardrobe, pulling dresses out ten at a time and holding them up against Cass, who indulgently lifts her arms for the girl.

Lola manages to smile and nod and laugh as Veronica picks out dresses for Cass, and eventually herself. She surprises herself when she yelps as Cass ducks under her short skirt and pulls a garter up her leg to act as a holster for a thin switchblade. She even manages to forget the heat she felt from Boone's eyes, threatening to set her ablaze.

* * *

><p>Lola and Boone stand outside of the Lucky 38, watching Raul, Cass and Veronica go on ahead to the Tops. Veronica glows with excitement, clad in a royal purple dress with a billowed skirt and short sleeves. She shakes her hips back and forth, muttering 'swish swish swish' like a gleeful child as she makes her skirt move. A large bonnet sits haphazardly on her head, matching the one she'd squished down on Lola's head. Lola taps the brim of it, lifting it from her eyes. Cass walks beside her in a sparkling emerald green dress almost as short as Lola's. She'd put her hair up in a messy ponytail that trails down the back of the green fabric as though setting it ablaze. Veronica had even managed to brow-beat poor Raul into a tuxedo and he walks beside the two women, running one hand along the sleeve of his jacket as if he couldn't believe it was actually wearing it. She'd tried to do the same to Boone but he had strongly and vehemently protested so he stood beside Lola in his wasteland fatigues, sunglasses covering his eyes and red beret perched on his head.<p>

They wait until the other three enter the Tops before moving, walking to the casino in silence. Lola tries to ignore the way heads swivel to look at them and the whispers that seem even louder than they did earlier that morning. They go through the gate that separates them from the Tops and walk up the flashing steps. They stop in front of the door and Lola eyes it as if she could shoot it down.

"You ready?" Boone asks quietly. It's the first thing he's said to her since the incident with the mirror. Unable to speak, she nods. Boone, as if thinking better of it, offers her his arm. She slips her arm around his in an effort to steady herself and forget how unsteady he makes her.

They push open the door to the Tops and Lola hopes she's pushing open the door to her memory.

* * *

><p>I have been wanting to write about the dresses for a million years<p> 


End file.
